


All Books from The Elder Scrolls Online: Clockwork City

by TheOneRulingNerevarRing



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 14:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 76
Words: 25,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16494521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneRulingNerevarRing/pseuds/TheOneRulingNerevarRing
Summary: Just as the title say'sThis is part 4 in my completion of making a complete set of all Elder Scrolls book's.





	1. A Brief History of Ald Sotha

To follow Sotha Sil is to listen to the winding of the gears, to think of the unlimited possibilities of what can be, not simply what is, or what was. I know this, but so too do I know what truths our past may hold. My devotion to the Father of Mysteries has been unyielding, spring-loaded I've even been told, but for so long incomplete. I began to ask questions, and was surprised so few knew. Where did our Lord come from? I received a name, but not an answer.

Ald Sotha.

I was quick to find my own answers, not within the cautious words of others but in the honest pages of books. My first discovery is that all information I would find was of the Ald Sotha that was, for the town was destroyed long ago. It was the homestead of the minor House Sotha, and how strange to write the word minor with any regard to my Lord's name! But from all my research I can only conclude such, as they are known for no great deeds or any particular skill. An unremarkable town belonging to an unremarkable family, yet somehow the birthplace of the very Father of Mysteries.

Ald Sotha was destroyed sometime within the First Era by the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon. There's very little speculation as to why the Prince of Destruction wished to eradicate this town, and I don't believe there needs to be. Why try to piece together the reasoning behind a being of chaos? The result is still the same, and that is the death of everyone living within Ald Sotha. Everyone, that is, but Lord Seht, rescued by Lord Vivec before either of them had obtained true godhood.

Vivec's rescue is worth further insight, however. How did Lord Seht survive through the attack? There is no mention of a battle, and from what I have analyzed I can only assume that it was after Dagon's destruction that our Lord Seht was rescued. I can only speculate in that end. If the Tribunal wished for others to know, they would have shared the tale. And you certainly won't see me tugging at one of their sleeves, asking such trivial questions!

And, once again, the end result is the same. Lord Seht was rescued, raised by Lord Vivec, and eventually ascended to his rightful place as our Clockwork God. Whatever manner he was saved by Dagon's wrath, it was the fate of the divine gears which move us for him to live, and guide us to reclaim our lost heritage, Tamriel Final.


	2. A Sky of Dusk

They said it was beautiful. Like a children's storybook steeped in nightmare. This realm of Oblivion, bathed in a purple sky. Stars splattered like flecks of paint. Falling, streaking across my eyes. A dark forest encroaches, filled with Her creatures. Wolves of shadows. Spirits haunting. Her Shrikes which sing, sing just for me. A melody which I cannot hum.

Blue lights fill Her land. Mesmerizing. Blue flowers that glow in the darkness with a kind light. Deceptive light. Yellow fires burn, burning against the blues and purples. Crypts lie, submerged in murky waters. Cold, cold, as cold as my hands.

Her land is decay, bloated and purple. The trees cast long, dark shadows. The path is winding, branching. There's a castle in the distance, broken apart. The world is broken apart. Crumbling, crumbling. The stone is crumbling, like my mind is crumbling. Tumbling, tumbling, into decay. Into Her shadow.

I walk within this shadow world into a counterfeit one. The realm of a Prince to the creation of a god. From soaking green to burning sand. The sun is blinding, weakening. I am a shadow, banished with the light. I crave it, but it hurts. I cannot have it. I cling to darkness as the darkness clings to me.

I sleep but find no rest, no night to come, no morning after. Just dusk, endless and gloomy. No rest for us wicked souls. Nightmares swarm, swarm like her crows. Endless eyes watching me. Singing which lures me in. The darkness seeps beneath my fingernails, under my eyelids, between my guts. Like tar, I'll fall apart if I rip it out.

My Mistress lulls me into slumber, into this nightmare. I cannot awaken for I have become the nightmare. I am one of Her shadow creatures. I am the wolf that howls, the spider that crawls. The spirits which haunt this plane.

I will feel nothing as I strike. I have nothing left to feel, save Her.


	3. A Study of Fabricants

The possibly-futile quest to find my place as a naturalist stranded in a world of the unnatural has led me to a dangerous field of study. And trust me when I tell you of its danger, for my past observations have taken me to quite hazardous locales. I've studied the fearsome senche-tigers lurking with the green depths of Grahtwood. I've followed tracks of the deadly behemoth through the poison swamps of Murkmire. I've researched the horrid frost trolls prowling the icy mists of Eastmarch's mountains. So believe me when I tell you that the fabricants of Clockwork City are some of the most dangerous creatures I have ever attempted to observe.

A fabricant is unique to the biome of Clockwork City, and I thank Auri-El every day that they are not able to spread their evil throughout Tamriel. These unwholesome creatures of beast and machine stalk the plains and ravines of this counterfeit world's wasteland. They come in many gruesome variants, and all present dangers to the unwary traveler. And make no mistake, they will kill any intruder on sight.

The verminous fabricant is unlike any creature I have seen before. It may be smaller than many monstrous beings in Tamriel, but it's also quick. This fast and agile creature attacks with metal claws resembling small scythes, and a pointed horn protrudes from its snout. Its lithe form means that it is able to follow you into smaller spaces, and trust me when I say that these creatures are relentless in their hunt.

The nix-hound fabricant is far more familiar, though I still shudder when I feel its lifeless, glassy eyes upon me. It's covered in brass, its back leg replaced entirely with metal limbs. Its gouging snout now has the edge of a blade. Given time, this creature will build up energy to produce a scalding beam. I've seen flesh melt and mer die after being struck by it.

The beetle fabricant was obviously modeled after the thunderbug, though why Sotha Sil thought that this already dangerous creature needed metallic updates I'll never know. Each of its scuttling legs has been replaced by metal limbs, and its lightning attacks seem to have a greater force than I have ever seen in nature. Like its other counterparts, this creature is aggressive, and will attack on sight. All caution should be taken if you see this monster in the wild.

Viewing these amalgamations of natural and unnatural, one has to ask why these creatures were created. And created they were, by the Clockwork God himself. Why would Sotha Sil willingly choose to bring about such monsters into the existence of Nirn? My research has led me to believe that few are courageous enough to ask him.

Perhaps they are simply an experiment gone wrong, or guards to protect his precious experiments. Whatever their reason for existence, fabricants remain a very real threat within the walls of this world-prison. I will continue to study their existence to best know how to avoid, escape, and perhaps even put an end to their miserable existence. I very much doubt the absentee Father of Mysteries will even notice my attempts to undo the madness he has wrought in his own city.


	4. Acolyte's Scroll Plate's

Entry 1  
While patrolling the Radius with Adjunct Daro, we happened upon a strange sight—someone managed to open a portal into the Clockwork City! Since I had my perception tabulator and Daro at my side, I decided to step closer and investigate.

Entry 2  
I decided to take notes, as the perception tabulator can sometimes be temperamental. Without thinking about it, I found myself directly in front of the portal. It has an unusual attraction.

Entry 3  
I stepped through the portal, though I can't actually remember doing so. The place is eerily beautiful, like a land of perpetual twilight. That s'wit Daro didn't come with me! No matter. I think I'll look around.

Entry 7  
Several things have now tried to gnaw my legs off. I was wrong. This is a horrible place. Strange and terrible. I must have slipped a gear, thinking I could handle this on my own.

Entry 8  
After I brought down what seemed like the hundredth dire wolf, I ate its leg. Without scrib jelly even. It was either that or starve. If I get out of this place, Adjunct Daro is going to get a piece of my mind!

Entry 9  
I'm starting to get the impression this is another plane of existence. Some dark corner of Oblivion maybe. There certainly are plenty of shadows here.

Entry 13  
There's some kind of weird field across the bridge. I think the perception tabulator has been working correctly, but I don't want to take any chances. I'll continue to make notes in my sequence journal for as long as I can. Now if I could only keep the plates from falling out every time one of those shadow creatures attacks me!

Entry 14  
Unusual scarecrows guard the field. When I used the perception tabulator to examine one of them, it actually spoke to me! Scared me nearly to death that I ran back across the bridge and—

That noise! Is something else out there?


	5. Assistance Needed for Factotum Experiment!

Associate Zanon of the Clockwork Apostles most urgently requests the services of an able bodied assistant. Any willing participants will be tasked to locate a missing component for an experiment involving factotum construction. Applicants should report to Associate Zanon's workshop in the Reactor District. Compensation will be rewarded upon completion of this task.


	6. Barilzar's Journal

A Record of My Studies in the Clockwork City

Today marks the twenty-sixth click of the gear, on the fourteenth rotation of the cyclical time-keeper, since I was selected by Sotha Sil as a Clockwork Apostle and apprentice mage and entered the Clockwork City. The place continues to fill me with awe and wonder, perhaps to an even greater degree than when I first set foot inside the tiny, domed complex. At first, I couldn't shake the crushing fear that accompanied my initial entry into the city. I was terrified of the shrinking process and the thought of being turned into a miniscule version of myself gave me nightmares for days before the transition was set to take place. And when it occurred, I'm slightly embarrassed to admit, the sensation of shrinking didn't exactly agree with me. I suppose I shouldn't have had such a big breakfast right before, but the scrib jelly on wickwheat toast smelled so good!

* * *

So many things to get used to, working in the Clockwork City! First off, everything is made of metal, though sometimes the forms and shapes can deceive the eye into thinking an object is composed of an entirely different substance. Second, we utilize sequence plaques instead of paper for inscribing notes and maintaining records. Very much in keeping with the aesthetics of the place. Third, the jargon developing within this small, closed community would be almost impossible to understand if I hadn't been here when it started to take root. Allusions and metaphors concerning clockwork mechanics fill our conversations and punctuate our statements. It even slips into our humor, such as it is. Sometimes it even feels like we're trying to upstage one another with who can construct the most perfect turn-of-gear phrase, but who could ever imagine that Clockwork Apostles would compete with one another? Well, except for that Albacron. He's a netch's arse.

* * *

Lord Seht requested my assistance in an unusual series of experiments today. He calls them his Nine Analyses of the Exalted Enigmas. I'm still trying to align my gears with his godly contemplations, but the experiments seem designed to test the limits of Sotha Sil's divine power. He outlined the entire series as he imagines them, but we only conducted the first of the experiments today. It was fascinating, even if I couldn't comprehend more than half of what I witnessed. Perhaps additional understanding will dawn as we conduct the remaining eight experiments. And I hope something explodes. I love explosions!

* * *

Lord Seht develops the most interesting and practical tools. When he required a tool to drain away minute bits of his own divine energy to store and study, he crafted one to his exact specifications. When he desired an instrument to measure the precise distance between different "locations" in Oblivion, he crafted that, too. What about a device for recording and analyzing our surroundings? He calls that his "perception tabulator." I hope to one day be able to invent and craft devices that are half as useful as the contraptions he throws together when he's bored or even working on something else. He's the ultimate multitasker!

* * *

The longer I spend in the Clockwork City, the more I come to appreciate it as a wonder and a miracle! From its brass tunnels to its glass domes, its metal plating to its giant gears, I can barely begin to understand all of its potential—and I'm one of the apostles helping to expand and fine tune the construction! Other than the tasteless paste the city provides as the only source of nutrition, the place is nearly perfect. It makes me sad to realize that I'd need a hundred lifetimes to study and understand even a third of what was required to design and construct this marvelous invention. I wonder, could I extend my life in order to continue the work I've dedicated myself to? Something to research at some future date.

* * *

Novice Kellu attempted to add a sense of humor to the factotum personality sequencing. It went as well as can be expected. Of the three factotums she attempted to enhance with her whimsical algorithms, one exploded, one ran into the Radius and hasn't been seen since, and the third stands in the corner and mutters to itself. The words are low and hard to understand, but I'm sure I heard the poor mechanical repeating "knock, knock" over and over again.

Maybe it's time to take my leave and find my own place in the larger world.


	7. Castigation Ritual

I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil. I will not misspell the words of Sotha Sil.


	8. Catalogue of Afflictions in the City

To the alienist, the ability—or inability—of a living mind to cope with stimuli and deprivation is of the utmost interest. How is it that some minds endure when others fail? What manifests in the aftermath of those outcomes? How can those manifestations be identified and altered? The workings of our own minds are as much a mystery as the workings of the material world, and it is no less dangerous to neglect their care than it is to mistreat the corporeal self.

While Clockwork City is a facsimile of Nirn in many ways, it is not a duplication. Many of the rules that govern the world simply do not apply to this realm, and things often taken for granted in the terrestrial world are found to be of vital importance to an individual's sanity when they are suddenly found scarce. Here I will outline a number of the most common afflictions to develop in previously well-adjusted individuals now inhabiting the Clockwork City.

 

Cyclical Inert Ingestion — Compulsive craving and ingestion of non-nutritious and sometimes harmful materials. It is not unusual for inhabitants and visitors in Clockwork City to experience a palate fatigue for the nutriment paste produced within the Brass Fortress, despite its inoffensive taste and complete nutritional profile. This often causes these individuals to experiment with consuming unusual substances for relief from that fatigue or because of a fallacious belief about the benefits of ingesting the substance that they have developed a taste for. In many cases this condition may safely go untreated, though some individuals' compulsions pose a significant danger to their health and those patients should be remanded to the Asylum Sanctorium for a more controlled therapeutic environment.

 

Magnusomnic Melancholy — Connections between mortal beings and the stellar bodies are well established, though fraught with superstition and apocrypha. Our relationship with the sun is of particular relevance to the psyche. From simple moodiness and doldrums in the long nights of winter to the violent, frenzied aversion of victims of vampirism, exposure to the sun has a noticeable effect on the mental health of many races, so its complete absence from Clockwork City is trying on most individuals. Lethargy, irregular sleep patterns, dark thoughts or impulses, and a general malaise are all signs that your patient could be suffering from solar deprivation. See volumes on treatment regarding variations of light conjuration and simulated sunlight.

 

Encapsulation Syndrome — A particularly insidious affliction similar to the acute fear of being trapped commonly observed in the terrestrial world. Individuals used to living their lives under the open sky are sometimes disconcerted by the easily demarcated boundaries of Sotha Sil's heavens. They begin to feel an inescapable sense of confinement that creates ever-present feelings of anxiety and agitation. These mounting pressures will push them to breaking point if left unresolved and should be considered a priority for treatment.

 

Minisculation Terrors — The terrors can be defined as bouts of irrational panic and paranoia that the victims are shrinking. It is unclear whether these episodes are a side effect of transitioning into this realm, or a pathological reaction to the experience of being miniaturized. Patients tend to describe peculiarities in their perception, ranging from a vague sense of things just being a little off, to vertigo, to delusional claims of evidence. For example, one such patient cited that they were now unable to reach an object they had placed on a high shelf the day before. Often these claims are a result of misremembered details, such as forgetting that they were wearing thick heeled shoes, though there is at least one recorded case of legitimate uncontrolled shrinking, so be diligent in investigating these claims.

 

Obsessive Focus and Fixation — Particularly common among apostles. Sometimes our colleagues must be saved from themselves. Clockwork City was designed with freedom from distraction in mind. It is a place of contemplation and learning, and sometimes the example Lord Sotha Sil sets is adhered to too closely by his followers. We are not gods. We cannot withdraw into our studies indefinitely and tirelessly without consequence. It may be necessary to intervene in the studies of an apostle who has developed an unhealthy obsession with their research. Fixated patients have been known to neglect sleep, forget to eat, shun all contact with others, and in some cases literally work themselves to death. As such, we are granted the authority to remand such cases to Asylum Sanctorium at our discretion.

 

Corporeal Odium — Self-loathing, specifically of one's physical form. Outside of Clockwork City it was primarily observed in kingdoms where one's physical features or biological heritage play a significant role in an individual's societal worth. It is also a fairly common trait among possessing spirits. This condition is on the rise among Clockwork Apostles who believe their enhancements represent an ideal that their native flesh fails to live up to. Reckless augmentation, self-mutilation, and emotional volatility are all warning signs that an apostle's desire for alteration has become an unhealthy obsession and the patient should likely be remanded to the Asylum Sanctorium for psycho-spiritual realignment.


	9. Chirrhari's Notes

Warning: Reactions with Clockwork City soil may radically change a mushroom strain's expected properties. Only imbibe fungi after extensive testing using fabricant subjects. As the saying goes, you can eat all mushrooms, but some only once.

Strain A-01-K:  
Large, flat caps, red. One stalk in cluster always white. Subject exhibited difficulty keeping balance after eating sample. Three gear clicks later, subject charged in unpredictable directions, often losing its balance while doing so. This resulted in a short delay in experimentation as factotums repaired damage to nearby equipment.

Strain B-01-T:  
Medium-sized, puffy caps, white with blood-red spots. Subject ate sample rapidly, then proceeded to the next. Factotums had to react quickly to prevent subject from eating the entire batch.

Strain C-02-K:  
Large white pods with black spots, grows in two- and three-pod clusters. Tested a two-pod cluster. Subject grew sick and died shortly after ingestion. Spore pods then grew on subject and burst when handled. Evacuated lab until factotums eradicated all spores. Note: Work out containment procedures before testing three-pod cluster.

Strain D-01-K:  
Large, round slimy caps, mottled yellow and white. Subject started uncontrollably shivering after eating sample. Attempts by factotums to provide warmth failed. As subject was no longer of experimental use, it was disposed of.

Strain E-02-K:  
Large to huge, drooping caps, gray. Subject's first attempt to consume a fully mature specimen resulted in the loss of several teeth and a minor stress fracture to the lower mandibular enhancement. Factotums coaxed subject to make a second attempt with an immature, smaller specimen. Subject extracted and ate the warts on the stalk with no ill effect. Note: Attempt to create weapons and armor out of mature stalks.

Strain F-03-T:  
Medium-sized, wavy caps set in tiers, orange with white rim. Subject immediately evacuated contents of stomach onto the floor. Sent a sample to Idrono for analysis. Note: Reformulate factotums to ignore stains on floor. They become too obsessed maintaining sanitary conditions.

Strain G-02-K:  
Large, bowl-shaped caps, mottled tan and orange with white-purple stalk. Subject devoured the sample and did not exhibit signs of hunger for two days after ingestion. Note: Conduct further experiments on the nutritional effects of this strain to determine cost effectiveness, as it is particularly labor-intensive to cultivate.


	10. Clockwork Apostle Poetry Collective

Forward by Lector Trivura

As an ongoing experiment to strengthen the academic integrity of our younger apostles, an initiative of the abstract concept of "creative thought" was undergone. As all calculable results continued to prove inconclusive, the project was deemed unsuccessful after a six-week trial. Here is a selection of the poetry that resulted from this initiative, collected for future analysis.

***

An Ode to a Factotum

The brass body of your gleaming unit  
The functions with which you operate  
All set in perfect regulation  
Which you'll gladly state

You clean our streets and sell our wares  
Manage our registries and dead  
You cook our meals and run our banks  
All these functions in your head!

But from where are you created  
By our all-knowing Lord Seht?  
Why can we not enter those chambers  
Did he lock them and forget?

But we Apostles know the truth  
For silence gives birth to the intrepid mind  
Mysteries are created to be solved So I will unlock the riddles of your kind!

***

The Wrong Numbers

I know that in a fortnight  
The market's prices will rise  
And I know where to go  
To find the most sturdy surprise

My head is filled with numbers  
But they're all simply wrong  
They're prices and people and sales  
I know they don't belong

I should think of the numbers  
That tell of order and sequence  
But they refuse to stay for long  
And they only make me tense!

I want to be an apostle  
Who can make my family proud  
But all these wrong numbers  
They're all that I'm allowed

***

A Soaking Bed

Musty sheets on a soaking bed  
They smell of mold and oil  
My sister keeps coughing at night  
I can't help her, I'm useless  
I've always just been useless

Magic gathers in my hands one day  
Warm and bright and filled with hope  
And every day I study the machines  
Their cogs and gears and parts  
I learn their secrets eagerly

I'm finally noticed, I'm finally free  
I enter into the world above  
I study and listen and do as I'm told  
A new name for my new life  
I will walk this path before me

Whispers follow me but I do not listen  
I'm now a stranger in my childhood home  
I know it's selfish not to return  
But the memories linger of that soaking bed  
Of that endless cough I cannot ease


	11. Concerning the Saints' Safety and Security

Proctor Luciana,

I am surprised by the lack of action to result from my last request. It is unlike you to leave correspondence unanswered. I thought perhaps something occurred in transit, but the factotum confirmed that my letter was received by your office. We've discussed your desires for control and inability to trust. If you are shouldering more concerns than you can maintain you must allow yourself to delegate. My concern is not simply for your health, but also for the safety of Clockwork City.

I'm afraid that the situation has not improved within the Asylum Sanctorium. My wards are becoming more agitated and unpredictable. I fear that they have become locked irrevocably into the gravity of madness and their descent grows swifter by the day. The few orderlies I have will not be able to keep the Saints contained should it become their desire to escape. They are astonishingly powerful beings, Luciana. I believe the day where we are forced to reckon with them is inevitable, and close at hand. We must be prepared.

May your path wind the Grand Gear,

Alienist Llandras


	12. Dulza's Log

By Dulza gra-Morkul, Merchant of Fells Runs 

I have many regrets, but none quite so strong as my decision to take our clan's ancestral sword on my journey. Knowing that it will never again be wielded by a Morkul's hand fills me with more sorrow than my own inevitable death. Well, there's nothing to do now but survive, for escaping this cursed world of metal seems impossible.

What a tusking fool I was. Traveling to Craglorn seemed so easy compared to some of my past jobs. Sure, I knew it was a land of strange and powerful magic, but when did that ever scare me off? So long as the gold was good and the deal legit.

The storm that swept me into this strange wasteland was unlike any I've seen before. The lightning flashed strange colors, the rain poured hot against my skin. I heard chanting all around me, the language chilling and strange. Those words will haunt me till my dying day.


	13. Engine of Expression

The Great Gear, a concept first put forth by Lord Sotha Sil and later expanded upon by his Clockwork Apostles, illustrates the idea that all of existence can be expressed as the workings of a finely tuned machine. The Great Gear represents nature's primal engine,the source of life and power and that makes Nirn thrive. It isn't a literal engine. The father of mysteries used the metaphorical idea of a primal engine to expound upon his teachings and philosophy. The apostles that learned from Lord Seht followed his example and built upon the metaphor to create a rich and expressive manner of speaking that sets them apart from other followers of the Tribunal.

By employing a variety of metaphors that utilize the working of gears and pistons to express emotions, thoughts, and intentions, the apostles have developed a distinct dialect that draws upon their vocation and beliefs. Here are some of their more cherished idioms, along with the meaning for those not fluent in the movements of the Great Gear.

"By the Great Gear!" An exclamation of wonder and surprise, although it can also be used to proclaim shock or even horror in the appropriate circumstance.

"Never in a million clicks of the Great Gear." An idiom for emphasizing the impossibility of a given event or describing something that is unlikely to happen.

"The gears just have to align in my favor." An expression of hopeful intent, favorable conditions, or the desire for everything to come together in a positive way.

"When the gear slips." A phrase used to express something isn't quite right or a situation has become off kilter.

"Clogging up the gears." An expression that means something was spoiled, usually through blundering or stupidity.

"Before three gears click into place." A phrase used to hurry things along or to indicate that very little time has or will have passed.

"Caught in the gears." A statement of concern usually related to a difficult situation, a troublesome predicament, or a problem that doesn't have an easy solution.

"May your gears spin freely." A friendly farewell, wishing the recipient good wishes and continued success.

"May your pistons never clog." A phrase used to wish another person well as you send them on their way.

"May the Great Gear always spin in your direction." A way to wish good fortune upon a Clockwork Apostle or a close friend or associated not related to the order.

"Tighten the cogs." To shore up, reinforce, or make better.

"The clockwork is only as strong as its weakest cog." A phrase with a literal meaning, though the "weakest cog" also figuratively refers to a person or other flawed feature and not an actual cog.

"The Great Gear" never pauses in its rotation." A phrase that assures us that time passes and that world moves on, whether we want it to or not.

"Spare a few more clicks of the Great Gear." A request to give someone or something your attention for a time.

"The Great Gear turns, so be quick, be quick." Time passes, so don't dawdle.

"Sometimes the Great Gear turns from frustration to opportunity." Any of several similar sayings that indicate that situations can change from favorable to unfavorable, or vice versa, usually by the whims of fate.

And that is the sequence of the words.


	14. Evaluation of Saint Felms

Saint Felms is in near constant motion, a sign that his continuing restlessness is at an all-time high. He resembles a trapped kagouti pacing its cage, but with no bars to restrain him I can only wonder how long his violent desires can be held in check. Truth told, I am not sure the order could construct a cage capable of confining the Saints' power.

My attempts to persuade Felms to relinquish his war axes have been fruitless. The mere suggestion that a warrior should surrender anything as much a part of himself as his weapons was enough to elicit a fiery contempt from him, though that may be regarded as an improvement.

His reaction of disdain was measured and reasoned, compared to other outbursts of frustration and anger. While his moods are fleeting, there are signs that Felms is still capable of rationality. Not entirely comforting, given his almost singular focus on martial affairs and conquest.


	15. Evaluation of Saint Llothis

Saint Llothis's withdrawal from reality, so much as that word has meaning here, continues unabated down a path of despondent reclusion. In many cases he fails to acknowledge or recognize attempts to communicate. I believe that this behavior is not so much a form of catatonia as the manifestation of a crippling depression, a diagnosis supported by undirected utterances made by Llothis during brief periods of activity.

These episodes have become more frequent and increasingly distraught. It appears that he is lamenting the loss of a deep, spiritual connection. It is impossible for me to say whether this traumatic separation involved the literal severing of any divine bond with the Three, or is simply how Llothis processes the drifting away of his personal relationship with the Tribunal. I will be closely monitoring this growing agitation. I fear the risk of self-harm, or other destructive impulses, is growing more significant.


	16. Evaluation of Saint Olms

Saint Olms continues to chafe under his confinement. Despite my best attempts to deter him, Olms has begun to seek comfort in the sky, but we both know his flights outside the atrium are only the illusion of freedom. The bonds that are dragging his mind into the pit of insanity are not the walls of the Asylum Sanctorium. That artificial body is both his cell and the weight chained to his ankles.

For whatever reason, he cannot adapt to the new life Lord Seht has granted him. None of the Saints can, but Olms in particular feels a particular torment in his existence. He truly believes that he's being tested or punished, and this persecution complex grows more intense with every moment he's forced to endure his suffering. He's even begun to mistrust me now. To him, I have now become the face of his oppressor, the surrogate of Sotha Sil here to continue administering his judgement. It is an unenviable position to be in for so many reasons.


	17. Excerpts From Fabricated Flora: A Study

Almost without exception the native flora of Clockwork City are full synthetic imitations of their terrestrial analogues. But there is one growth within the Halls of Regulation that remain a mystery. The "Ironstalk Mushroom," as they have come to be known, often sprout in the dark, dank tunnels of the Halls. My dissections of several specimens lead me to believe that these organisms are fully organic, but their anatomy and suitability to their unlikely environment implies that they were designed with a purpose.

These fungi hungrily absorb minerals, alchemical remnants, and even corrosive materials with seemingly no ill effects on their physiology. Some have speculated that this is simply happenstance, that some Tamrielic spore were introduced to the halls by exodromal, took root, and thrived. That sort of dismissive justification simply lazy in my opinion. To off-handedly assume that Sotha Sil would not introduce a wholly organic creation to his grand design, if it served his purposes, is a discredit to his genius.

I theorize that the Ironstalk Mushroom sprung from a need to purify pollutants from the Halls of Regulation that proved detrimental or at least impractical for a machine to address. We occupy a world created with meticulous precision and care. It may be acceptable to dismiss the unknown as whim, or fate, or chance on Nirn, but in the Clockwork City there is only the Grand Schema. Here, there is always a greater explanation to the workings of the world.


	18. Eyes of Nothing

They swarm, they swarm, they gather and collect. Dark feathers, like ink upon the purple sky. Dark feathers swirling, swirling, forming a creature. A monster. Lifeless eyes.

Did She make it? Did one of us? Was it just born from the chaos, from the darkness of our hearts? Swirling, it gathers, it pecks and pecks.

It's different from the other crows here. Our Mistress' mischievous pets, who pretend royalty. Pretend loyalty. They steal and keep and hoard. Joy in their black eyes that shine as they mock us. For obeying endlessly. Following Her into the darkness, with nothing shining as a reward. Only the blackness behind our eyes.

But the monster has lifeless eyes. They're hollow, not black, just nothing. Nothing, nothing, they stare through you. Between you. They peck and peck. Nothing shining will move them. Nothing to sate their unending appetite. Swarming, gathering, collecting, a mass of darkness.

They're angry, always angry. Hungry. No laughter, no mocking, just hunger. They'll peck, peck, with bony beaks that snatch. Gouging murders, arcing darkness. Talons to cut, shred, tear. Tearing, tearing.

They summon more. Crows cawing, gathering, and then they laugh no more. Tease no more. Speak no more. Her pets are nothing now, pecking, pecking hunger which stalks. Which tears. Which feasts.

I dream of them as I sleep beneath the stars of Her Oblivion. They simply stare. Staring, staring, nothing eyes filled with rage. Filled with hunger. My flesh will not satisfy them, but they crave it, I see it. I cannot offer anything but myself, and I don't want. Not that. I have been consumed by Her. They cannot have me.

They peck and peck, but I am a shadow. My flesh is darkness. I am already devoured by Her.


	19. Factotum Classification

Given the unprecedented reveal of the seventh advancement of the factotum model, my attempt to give individualized names to each unit has been deemed "unnecessary and unreliable" by the Congress of Calibration. I have now been tasked to only identify groups of units that perform similar functions. I have to admit, this only further shows a sad misunderstanding of the unique personality each unit so clearly expresses. Still, I must abide by the ruling of the council. And so here I shall list the name and brief description of each factotum subgroup for future reference.

Clockwork Registrar: This singular unit is able to access all residential records within Clockwork City. It also maintains all documentation within the Brass Fortress archives, the extent of which none but Lord Seht knows. I find this unit to be direct and to the point, making it very efficient to work with.

Clockwork Clinician: Though few in number, these clinicians have been purposed for a variety of post-mortem tasks. Their most prominent ability allows them their cognitive archival process and data retention of the recently deceased. This has been used for a variety of occasions, most notably with questioning Proctor Nevyn on several incomplete thermodynamic equations. I find this unit to be a more comforting presence, but often impatient when delayed.

Clockwork Facilitator: A newer, singular unit introduced to the Brass Fortress, it has nonetheless proved to be a liaison to Lord Seht's own experiments. Currently its only function is to recruit combatants to battle a creation known as the Imperfect, said to be one of Clockwork's most dangerous creations. From what I can gather, this unit will continue to create tasks based on the "greater good" of Clockwork City. I find this unit to be more boisterous than its counterparts.

Commerce Delegate: These units have multiple functions to aid residents with purchases. Though the Clockwork Apostles do not regulate commerce, my suggestion to lease these units to local guilds has been met with approval and is currently undergoing negotiations. I find these units to be friendly and lighthearted compared to many other factotums.

Currency Steward: Continuing with the need for help with the residential currency system, these units have access to all banking records and regulations. They have helped decrease the "errors" often found in their less reliable, and often merely greedy, organic counterparts. I find these units to be serious, grim, and very reliable.

Cuisine Administrator: Though any resident can work a nutrient dispenser, these units have several functions related to cooking. The consensus of their successful meals has been noted to perhaps be biased by the local population, given the bland daily diet of most Brass Fortress residents. Nonetheless, all meals generated have been deemed perfectly safe for consumption by the Clockwork Apostles. I find these units to be almost coddling in their affections.

I will continue these rudimentary and functional classifications for factotums within the Brass Fortress. Further preparation is needed before I can begin my research on the more combat focused units, as our means to place them in standby has been unsuccessful for several generations. May the gears align in my favor.


	20. Factotum Model Registry

Factotum series 1 - discontinued  
Factotum series 2 - discontinued  
Factotum series 3 - discontinued  
Factotum series 4 - discontinued  
Factotum series 5 - discontinued  
Factotum series 6 - discontinued  
Factotum series 7 - current generation. 946 partitions active. 6400 partitions stored.

Improvement Notes:  
1\. Increased ambulatory speed and coordination. Stair navigation greatly improved.  
2\. Further reduced occurrence of memory-regression episodes.  
3\. Installed anterior storage compartments.  
4\. Field of view increased by 20%  
5\. Enhanced facial recognition and expression comprehension aptitude.  
6\. Increased vocabulary by 670 words.  
7\. Further amplified threat recognition and reaction speed.


	21. Gascone's Memorandum

Fellow Apostles,

A matter of no small import recently came to my attention, and I must attend to it forthwith. I apologize for any disruption my brief absence may cause. Please refer any urgent questions to my aide.

There is no need for alarm. Everything is fine. Please carry on in a manner befitting your station.

— G


	22. Imperfect Operations Manual

All factotums possess basic excavation capabilities, but the Imperfect surpasses all over in terms of sheer power. Unfortunately, Imperfect excavations require a huge output of energy. Unlike lesser factotums, this automata requires a fully charged animo core to function.

Order of operations for charging animo cores:

1\. Ensure that an inert, empty animo core is firmly locked into the distillate filling station bracket.  
2\. Ensure that all flow valves are set to the correct throughput position.  
3\. Push the geodic distillate flow-lever into the "Fill" position.  
4\. Allow core to charge fully, then unlock the filling station bracket and remove the core.

Note:

Incorrectly positioned flow valves can disrupt the geodic distribution system.

Activate the emergency reset valve if flow position reaches critical instability. All flow valves will return to their original position.


	23. Inveigling the Clockwork Apostles

Getting into the Brass Fortress from out in the Radius means getting into the good graces of the Clockwork Apostles. Trust me, if they're not on your side? You're cranked. That being said, they're not the easiest group to understand. The Apostles aren't chasing the glory of their ancestors or the thrill of battle. They don't burden themselves with thoughts of war, or famine, or disease. In fact, they rarely burden themselves at all, getting factotums to do everything but wipe their—but I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at what they do care about.

Sotha Sil is not only the god of the Apostles, but their mentor of sorts. The relationship is rather like needy students with a particularly distant teacher. The Apostles always seem to be seeking his approval on whatever project they're working on, though I doubt they'll ever get it. Their God of Mysteries keeps to himself more often than not.

All of the Apostles work towards one goal, something they call Nirn-Ensuing, or Tamriel Final, or Second Nirn, so on and so forth. If you want to bore yourself with the details, give the Sermons of Sotha Sil a read. And then another read. And then a third read so you can actually understand any of it, if you happen to be so inclined. All I know is that they're not so fond of this world, and they're trying to make it better. Somehow.

Now you would think that making the world better would include what could generally be recognized as acts of generosity, or at least basic human kindness. You would be wrong on that account. You see, the perfect Nirn doesn't really include things like feeding the hungry or sheltering the sick. It does involve making a scrap ton of machines. For some reason.

So, to get in good with the Apostles you have to help them conduct their experiments of gods know what. This means demonstrating a knack with magic, machines, or probably both. If you don't have those skills handy I suggest you listen closely for some other opportunity. The Clockwork Apostles are not above asking for favors, especially if it's for a task they think beneath them. Sure, they might not have the easiest or most wholesome requests in mind, but I suggest you take the chance while it's available.


	24. Ironstalk Mushroom Preservation and Sterilization

In the event this rotgut swill does addle my wits, everything I need to remember to preserve the fungus and my profit margin can be found within these pages. What I wouldn't give for just a sip of flin, but even my substantial sway over commerce in the Brass Fortress can't work miracles. At any rate, I'll take this time to prepare a reminder to never EVER attempt this process while intoxicated.

—Begin with a simple saltwater brine. Add two parts corrosive fabricant saliva per five parts brine. This will soften the minerals absorbed by the fungus without destroying the mushroom itself.

—Once the fungus is pliable, cut a small incision into the cap along the top and kneed in a bowl of lubricant. Work the oil into the caps and squeeze firmly until the spores have been evacuated.

—Transfer to a clean bowl of lubricant and repeat as necessary until the majority of spores have been removed.

—Return the fungus to the brine. Do not inhale the fumes given off by the mixture of the lubricant and corrosives.

—Seal in an alloy cauldron and simmer over red coals for two days. This should render any remaining spores inert. This is the most important step! Better that the whole batch go bad than the spores be allowed to take root outside the Halls of Regulation.

—Remove from heat and leave the sealed cauldron to age at least a week.

I have found no discernible difference in the properties of mushrooms aged longer than a week, but attaching a vintage to each batch has been highly effective at negotiating a premium on my older stock


	25. Journal of a Stranded Mage

You know what I miss most? No, it's not food, though eating the bland gruel given out here has become torturous at best. And no, it's not the smell of the Green, though it seems like the stench of metal fills me to the brim. And no, it's not safety, because if Grahtwood has taught me anything, it's to fear danger at every turn.

You know what I miss the most? My dog.

Jona's a lovely creature, she is. Shaggy gray coat, bright pink tongue. Her eyes look like two stars, golden and shining. I miss her wagging tail, always there to meet me when I came home. Her love of fetching sticks in the meadows. Y'ffre's name, curse it all, I even miss her barking in the middle of the night. I'm sorry I ever cursed her for it, because I know she was just doing her best to be a good dog.

Perhaps I'm pathetic for admitting it, but I'll be damned if it's not true. But even though I miss Jona, I still wouldn't wish this life on her. In fact, I'm sure she would have been eaten by now if she did end up here with me. Either that, or killed by one of the monstrous constructs around here.

All it took was one foggy night of too much Sun's Dusk Ale. Mother always told me I was too much a fool to have magic, and I'll be damned, she was right. I must have used that portal spell near a hundred times before, and all it took was some slurring of the Ehlnofex, perhaps a switched up syllable or two. And here I am, lonely and bitter, wasting my time writing about my damn dog.

I just hope she's being taken care of. My cousin Brelenel would check on her when I traveled, but Jona needs a proper home and a kind hand. I can hardly believe I'm more worried about her than myself! Me, well, I can look after my own arse. Who's going to look after hers?


	26. Love Poem LT0782

[Poem begin]

Your merits defy calculation,  
My heart (metaphorical) pumps like a piston,  
And my pelvic and/or knee brackets oscillate,  
Whenever we make physical contact,  
Also, your face symmetry pleases me,

[End composition]


	27. Maintenance Log's

Log 1  
Saturated oil in need of resupply. Ventilation fan maintenance decreased by 2%. Water contamination remains consistent. Humidity decreased to 32%. Recommend diverting power from distillation initiator to vapor manifold. Section 5V-R currently infested with firepot spiders. Recommend factotum maintenance routes recalculated while disruptors are secured.

Condition report: stable.

Log 2  
Surge of new lifeforms in Clockwork City biome detected. Initiating maintenance protocol R4-91. Decreasing temperature for nighttime cycles. Water contaminants increased by 3%. Recommend accelerating input to distillation initiator. Commutator resupply needed for galvanic engines. Increasing factotum functions for additional workload. Recommend additional factotums for routine maintenance. Sending request to Lord Sotha Sil.

Condition report: in danger of instability.

Log 3  
Warning. Power surges increasing by 54%. Cleansing crystal in need of replacement. Ventilation gears in need of replacement. Geodic dynamo in need of replacement. Function failure in all maintenance factotums. Combat protocol B0-N1 initializing. Refusing orders for standby mode. Current request's status remains pending.

Condition report: in danger of critical failure.


	28. Maliah's Journal

"Magus commands you."

Such a simple phrase, yet so full of power! I finally acquired the pass phrase to unlock the secrets of the obsolete analysis factotums. The sacred text of Sotha Sil's honored assistant was instrumental in my discovery.

I wonder what the mechanical creature will tell me when I finally locate it and speak the phrase. My hope is that it will provide me with the means to finally make a better life for me and my son.


	29. Mechanical Fundament Maintenance Logs

Factotums ordered to police up all organic material in the Mechanical Fundament - including seventeen deceased persons. All currency and potential identification items to be delivered to constabulary refuse vault. Redact all logged data upon task completion.

Ordering resident: BAL-167 (Permissions ranking: Constable)


	30. Naril's Note: Simulated Sunlight

It was Apprentice Gathal, my most-favored protege, who determined the terrible problem facing us. "The Clockwork sun," Gathal declared, "it has neither the warmth nor the life-giving properties of the sun that hangs in the sky above Nirn."

Once Gathal pointed this out, it seemed so obvious. The Clockwork sun provides light and gives us a consistent day and night cycle, but it does nothing to help the Wellspring's plants grow. We needed our own source of nourishing light. With that decided, Gathal and I set to work to invent a device that would replicate Nirn's sun.

We had some success with a limited light source, but it required us to utilize the factotums to constantly rotate the crops into and out of the nourishing light. This allowed us to harvest a small number of plants and begin the tradition of an annual harvest and apprentice selection. But we needed both an illumination device and a power source capable of simulating actual sunlight. We were so close, yet the solution seemed so far away.

Through trial and error, it took only a dozen or so iterations to perfect a suitable illumination device. When we hit upon a transparent lucent alloy to serve as the conductor for the simulated sunlight, we were certain we were on the right track. However, no matter how promising the illumination device appeared to be, the plants continued to die. We needed more power, but nothing available in the Clockwork City seemed to offer a workable solution. It was a conundrum!


	31. Naril's Note: Success Out of Tragedy

Apprentice Gathal and I seem to have hit a wall in our efforts to create life-giving simulated sunlight. Our illumination devices work perfectly and have the capacity to channel light that is up to one hundred times brighter and stronger than what we can produce with the power sources available for our simulated sunlight inductor. We need a stronger power source or the Everwound Wellspring is doomed to fail.

* * *

After countless hours of testing and experimentation, Gathal has come to one irrefutable conclusion. Our simulated sunlight inductor requires life to nourish life. We've had some promising results by draining small amounts of life energy from volunteers and using it to power the simulated sunlight illuminators. The clear, bright light this energy produces makes our plants grow more quickly and more robustly than any other source we applied. The differences are nothing short of miraculous! But the borrowed life energy is fleeting and doesn't provide anywhere near the amount of power we need to operate all of the illuminators necessary to nourish all of our gardens.

We're so close, yet so far from a real and lasting solution.

* * *

I returned to the workshop to find a disconcerting sight. Gathal had attached himself to the inductor while I was away in order to conduct an experiment I had expressly forbade him from performing. It was his contention that we could extract even more life energy from the volunteers if we could determine the point at which the volunteer could still regenerate the borrowed life. If we could take that much and not a drop more, we could power the illuminators. But if we took too much, a volunteer would die.

Unfortunately, Gathal was too zealous in his application of the draining device. All of his life force fed the inductor, leaving nothing to provide power for his own body. My apprentice, my protege, was dead. Before grief could overwhelm me, however, I noticed an amazing thing. The inductor hummed with more energy than it had ever contained through our numerous trials and experiments. Gathal had solved the problem! The inductor required the entire life force of a subject to provide enough power to keep the Wellspring aglow with simulated sunlight for an entire season!

That's when I promised that Gathal's sacrifice would not be in vain. I announced that the harvest distribution would continue—as long as the Apostles agreed to provide me with a new apprentice every year. Those apprentices would be fed to the inductor, and the simulated sunlight produced by their life force would give us a bountiful harvest with which to feed the masses.

It was the perfect solution, even if the cost of our knowledge turned out to be so expensive.


	32. Naril's Notes: Early Experiments

Apprentice Gathal and Apprentice Ohtowen shine as my best and most-promising acolytes. Even Sotha Sil would be impressed with their accomplishments on behalf of the Wellspring. We've expanded our gardens from mushrooms and other fungi to include groves for fruit-bearing trees, fields for vegetable-yielding plants, and plots for flowers and other flora. To achieve the goals I set forth, we needed a powerful solution of alchemical nutrients that would provide the essential elements missing from the Clockwork City.

After an extensive period of trial and error, I finally hit upon the perfect combination of alchemical compounds. With the help of our factotums, we created a series of pipes and holding tanks where we could treat the water and then use it to irrigate the groves and gardens. Our initial seeds sprouted perfectly, receiving vital nutrients from the alchemically treated water. On the verge of our biggest, most varied harvest to date, something unforeseen happened.

No matter how much we cared for them, the trees and plants withered and died before they could blossom. It was a crushing day for the Everwound Wellspring.


	33. Naril's Notes: Origins

Sotha Sil manipulated the mathematics and applied the magicka necessary to call forth a huge reservoir of water, which he placed within a chasm in the Clockwork City. He sealed the great pool beneath a thick layer of metallic soil with the intention of creating a lush oasis inside his mechanical wonder. He called it the Everwound Wellspring and explained a little of his grand plan to his apostles. But the Clockwork God, easily distracted by other challenges and countless mysteries, stepped away to deal with other things and never returned. In time, his apostles moved on as well.

All except for me. I believed in the oasis project. I understood the vital need it fulfilled for the Clockwork City. So I began to work on the Wellspring myself, eventually attracting apprentices of my own. Soon, this compound rose up from the metallic dust and our experiments took on greater depth and significance. Our earliest successes revolved around mosses, molds, and fungi—living creatures that could thrive in a dark environment with nothing more than water and a bit of fertilizer to nourish them. Bolstered by our accomplishment, I set our sights on the most elusive prize.

I turned our efforts to growing actual fruits, plants, and vegetables to supplement the diets of the Clockwork City's living inhabitants.


	34. Nerevar the Captain

Nerevar the Captain  
Captain and King. Friend, Student, and  
Hortator. May we ever seek his wisdom. And his forgiveness.


	35. Notes on Crow Sightings

More droppings on my head today. They have gotten quite skilled with their aim. The birds have latched onto me as a target of sorts, following and harassing me in the streets. Always watching and listening.

I try to remind my team to watch their tongue and speak cautiously when the little beasts are present. Its become somewhat of a joke amongst the acolytes, but I wish they would take these creatures seriously. There is something far more dangerous at work here than talking birds.


	36. Novice Oscard's Notes

Entry 3  
Adjunct Daro was certainly correct about this place being connected to the Evergloam. Shadows and crows and other creatures of the night fill this realm the way sand fills an hourglass!

Entry 4  
My initial exploration of the Shadow Cleft suggests it's a secure position from which these vile creatures can launch an invasion of the Clockwork City! I must warn the rest of the Apostles.

Entry 5  
These Night Sisters seem to be the leaders of this invasion force and the night terrors and cultists are their shock troops. I've recorded the numbers I've seen so we can better prepare our defenses.

Whispering Shadows Cultists 12  
Night Terrors 17  
Shade Hags 24  
Dire Wolves 37


	37. Ode to a Brass Lily

A brass lily nods under gender showers,  
Its filigreed petals polished by nature's caress,  
So too do you blush under a rain of kisses,  
Your gentle sigh puts its grace to shame.


	38. Orders of Assassination

By the dark of night, hearken to these words.

Chancellor Gascone has betrayed us. If he proceeds through the ravine, capture him. Failing that, slay him. We cannot allow a servant of Sotha Sil to know our secrets - even a traitorous servant.

May the shadows guide your blades.


	39. Outsider Observation Report's

Log 1  
So. This organization called the Clockwork Apostles has asked me to record my thoughts about the Clockwork City? Apparently I'm the latest person to show up in about a hundred or some such years. I told them, "Wow, not a big tourist town huh?" They didn't really laugh at that one. Or any of the jokes I've told so far, if I'm being honest. But hey, rambling on about something I barely know about? Now that's something I can do.

They suggested I start with observations. Said that was the most "objective" viewpoint I could give. Huh, well, not really sure what they're getting at there, but I'm going to ignore that bit of advice because I think that I should start with myself. After all, who gives a skeevers arse about what I have to think if you don't know who I am? That's what I always thought, you know, reading stories.

Well, a little about myself. I'm your typical mage, I suppose, in how typical the ability to summon fireballs and teleport around is. Not particularly powerful or anything, which the Apostles sure were disappointed about, let me tell you. I get the feeling that they only care about folks who have a real hand at magic, or good with the contraptions they've cooked up here. I already know a few apostles who told me that they were simply very, very skilled at working the machines here, and that was sort of an in for them. Not that I really want to join a bunch of Dark Elves who worship Sotha Sil, mind you.

How did I end up here? Now, I'd really like to know that myself. See, I was apprenticed with a Telvanni mage just recently, an unconventional character who had a tough time keeping apprentices around. Now this mer, I'll tell you, real big Clockwork City aficionado. Really big on getting here too. I mean, talk about an obsession, he would just lecture us all nonstop about the "wonders of the omni-axle" and all that. Not that he really knew what exactly those wonders were, but hey, he knew they were here.

Long story short though, he wasn't wrong. And he would have gotten his wish, had I not been a beef-wit and stepped into the portal first. Well, I mean, more like tripped. I keep hoping he'll show up, but from what I could tell it was a one way trip? Something about the movements of the planes or something like that. Prime conditions that aren't likely to pop up again. Just my luck, that.

Now that I'm here though, well, not so sure my old boss would be particularly keen on this place. I mean first off, it's pretty much a wasteland. Smells like I'm trapped in a tin cup. Heck, everything is metal. The trees, the creatures, the people! They have metal limbs, and from what I can gather they just do it for some sort of fashion trend. Gives me goosebumps.

All right, my caretakers here are telling me I'm out of time. They're going to perform some more tests on me, I think. Take bits of my hair and spit for "analysis." I'm guessing they'll keep asking me to write down my thoughts though. Unless one of the factotums can read my mind? Huh. Wouldn't be surprised.

Log 2  
Here I am again, writing down my thoughts on the Clockwork City. If I had to hazard a guess, the Clockwork Apostles weren't too keen on my last report. But you know, I don't think they're really keen on me period. So to keep in their good graces, and out of the Radius, I thought I'd share some more "objective" observations.

I'm currently living in this city called the Brass Fortress. It really does look like a fortress from the outside, with high walls and big gates. There is no getting in unless you're invited, but it isn't really needed for things like war parties or bandits. There's no one here that isn't registered. I mean, perhaps there's some poor souls lost in the wastelands that surround the Brass Fortress, known as the Radius. I'm guessing they're not registered or anything, but I'm not rightfully sure. Least I'm safe here.

Well, all right, truthfully? Not everywhere in Brass Fortress is safe. In fact there are quite a few "off-limits" areas here filled with rather nasty fabricants and these rather testy factotums. Fabricants by the way are these strange creatures that are a mixture of metal and flesh. Gave me nightmares the first time I saw one. From what I can understand they were created by Sotha Sil? Not sure why. They scare the ever living daylights out of me though.

And the factotums, well, they're like metal people. They got heads and arms and everything, but they're simpler than living folk. They have tasks they do and they just do them. They'll answer questions sometimes? It's odd, because they act like people. Well, like very devoted servants. Who only think and talk about serving. And they're very keen on completing whatever task they've been set to do. They're interesting enough, I suppose.

You know, the Clockwork Apostles are pretty simple too in their interests. They really enjoy inventing oddities and discovering odd bits of information. They're real keen on Sotha Sil and everything he does. Got a giant statue of him right in the square. They quote his sermons a whole awful lot to. Doesn't make much sense to me, but at least they're not cultists or anything.

Now here's a funny thing that I'm still wrapping my head around. These seemingly very reason driven individuals believe that the Princes and Daedra don't rightfully exist. Right. I mean, I've seen a clannfear rip men apart. Pretty sure it was real. I guess it's a little easier to believe that though, given that there doesn't seem to be any Daedra here. Not sure why? I guess Sotha Sil is just particularly vigilant about keeping them out.

Now it isn't all Apostles this and Sotha Sil that here in Brass Fortress. In fact, most of the citizens are just normal folk like myself. Well, as normal as anyone can be growing up in this strange land. There's the merchants and the craftsmen, blacksmiths and chefs. They even have their own slums, though that came as a surprise. They call the folks there Tarnished, unwanted vagabonds and whatnot. I've talked to a few though and they seem a decent lot. Then again, most of the poor folk I've met are.

I can tell you that no matter your lot in this city you never go hungry. You see they got this gruel here called nutriment paste. Consistency of porridge, and taste of … well, not much taste to speak of. You can add spices or toppings to make it a bit more palatable, but given that everything is made of metal here, that's a bit hard to come by.

Got to cut it short here. More tests. Hopefully they won't make me run so much in this one. I'll make sure to keep writing down my thoughts. Helps me make sense of everything that's happening.

Log 3  
So I've been told that my observations have been too ... colorful? I suppose is the way I'd put it. I guess after growing up in a world that's just different shades of brown, a bit of color can be confusing. Still, they told me to write my observations, and I'll be damned if I can do that any way but how I know how. So they'll just have to ""analyze"" a bit harder.

I thought I'd write about other places in Clockwork City that I've visited so far. I've talked about the Brass Fortress and the general Radius, but there are some other locations around here that I've been taken to. Some of them seemed a tad more practical than others, but then again, I'm not really sure I can compare my definition of practical with the God of Mystery's.

First they took me to the Mnemonic Planisphere. Well, more like we walked by it, because I wasn't allowed to go inside. I was told it was sort of like a storehouse for Sotha Sil's memories. Yeah, you read right. His memories! He's apparently got so many of them that he likes to keep them all organized in a giant building. I tell you, it's almost as big as a castle. And they look like stars? How you turn memories into stars, I'm not sure, but then again I'm not a god.

The next stop was far more practical of a place, called the Halls of Regulation. Now, I had been wondering where all the fresh water came from, because the rivers and lakes here are filled with oil of all things! Apparently this place somehow cleans it all up. Sure, they tried to explain it to me. Talked about the water cycle and evaporation and all these fancy terms. But hey, it gives me fresh water, so I can't complain even if I barely understand it.

The inside was a bit less spruced up than I expected. A lot of pipes, a lot of steam, and a lot of factotums. Couldn't help but feel nervous around them all. I was told that they help maintain the Halls of Regulation, all by themselves. I was shocked, since the whole operation sounded a bit high maintenance. Wasn't there an apostle there to give them orders and make sure everything was running smoothly? And then they started talking about Sotha Sil and how he sets everything in ""perfect regulation"" and honestly I started to lose track of the conversation from then on.

We then went up north to the Everwound Wellspring, which was my favorite stop because they had actual food there! I've never been more happy to eat an apple in my life. After weeks of tasteless gruel, it was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Ma was right, hunger is truly the best seasoning. And all the plants were green! I never thought I'd miss green as much as I do.

Despite my excitement though, I couldn't help but feel that something was off about the place. The mer running it was nice enough, but after talking to him I could tell he had a few screws loose. All that stress really must have really gotten to him. I suppose he's under a lot of pressure though, especially since he took up the project after Sotha Sil got bored of it.

Well, they're telling me to complete this observation report best I can now. I don't think they need any more observations from me, so I guess this is it. Right, so my overall impression is that Clockwork City... well, it's one of the most dangerous places I've ever set foot in. I can't really believe someone who calls himself a god would really let his followers live here. It's more made for machines than any living creature.

Still, it has an odd beauty about it. The metal leaves in the trees that glitter in the sun are particularly nice. Guess I'll just have to get use to it, since this seems to be a one way trip. No one but Sotha Sil gets to leave Clockwork City. Honestly, I hope I'm the last beef-wit who gets stuck here. I wouldn't wish this life on anyone else.


	40. Proctor Luciana's Journal, Vol 1

Date: (Month and day unknown) 1E 2712 (?)

I write this with an unsteady hand. The factotums tell me that I'll regain full control of my new fingers soon enough. I have my doubts.

I've never kept a journal. It always seemed like an act of vanity - putting all your life's pursuits to paper. As if anyone would want to read them. But given the circumstances, I think it's worth the effort. I find myself in a very strange place - the Clockwork City.

It was not an easy trip. I don't remember much. There were trees. Valenwood, I think. I remember striking something with a summoned blade, then a flash of light. The rest? Nothing but whispers and pain.

When I came to, I found myself suspended in a glass sphere - submerged in some kind of viscous fluid. Polished metal clamps kept my shattered limbs in place, while tiny mechanical creatures stitched the flesh to new brass appendages. To my great surprise, I felt no need to breathe - just a deep thirst, and a dreamy state of mind. I saw a tall Elf gazing at me from the other side of the glass, his face warped by the curve of the sphere. He identified himself as Sotha Sil, and told me that I would live. He also told me that I had a son.

This came a surprise. I had no idea I was even pregnant. Apparently the factotums discovered the tiny, barely viable child while they rushed to stabilize my ruined body. In Tamriel his severe prematurity would have been a death sentence, but here the impossible seems effortless.

I never had any intention of having a baby. Toting a child around while making war on the Akaviri hardly seemed practical. But time and circumstance make fools of us all.

I named him Marius—after my paternal grandfather. I hope this journal will serve him well if I succumb to these injuries. He should know something of his heritage at the very least.

 

Date: 15 Sun's Dusk, 1E 2712 (?)

The more I learn about the Clockwork City, the more it appeals to me. The Brass Fortress provides few comforts. It's a dry and hard place—full of strange machines and stranger people. Dark Elves mostly. I've met Dunmer before, of course, but these Clockwork Apostles seem like a breed apart. They revere logic and innovation above almost anything else. Can you imagine? My fellow battlemages always mocked me for my dedication to cold reason. ""Where's your fire, Luciana?"" As if there's no fire in rigorous thought.

Sotha Sil still checks in on me from time to time. I've never met another person like him. The apostles worship him as a god, but I get the sense that it makes him uncomfortable. He only occasionally makes eye contact—not out of timidity, though. He's just always focused on something else. A device, or a book, or some other clockwork oddity. I ask him questions whenever the opportunity presents itself—questions about the nature of this place, his motives, his history. I never get straight answers. Nonetheless, he seems to enjoy the back and forth. I get the sense that even here, surrounded by worshipers and loyal machines, he remains profoundly alone.

The apostles keep telling me that blasphemy is acceptable here—even encouraged. But it seems like a belief without a backbone. My caretaker, Lector Marilia, was aghast when I told her about my conversations with the "Clockwork God." For example, I asked Sotha Sil about those persistent rumors—the ones about how he and the other Tribunes murdered Indoril Nerevar, the Dark Elf king. According to Marilia, the topic is strictly taboo. Even so, Sotha Sil answered my questions with a quiet grace that surprised even me.

"Why do you think things happen?" he asked. I told him I didn't understand the question.

"Why are we sitting here talking? Why does young Marius exist? Why do I reign over this place, while you convalesce within it?"

I sat quiet for a moment, then replied: "Because that's just the way it is."

His cold face melted into one of his solemn half-smiles. "Exactly."

I can't be sure, but it seemed like relief in his voice. His shoulders relaxed, his tone shifted—he had the look of a man at peace with his sins. Soon afterward, he thanked me for the conversation and left the room in silence.

I looked down at Marius, sleeping soundly in his brass crib. In that moment, things seemed to make sense. The Clockwork City finally started to feel like home.


	41. Proctor Luciana's Journal, Vol 2

"Date: 12 Evening Star, 1E 2713 (?)

After a year of contemplation, I've decided to take my place in the ranks of the Clockwork Apostles. At least I think it's been a year — time moves so strangely here.

It wasn't an easy decision. In my heart, I've never stopped serving my liege, Reman Cyrodiil. But the conflicts of Tamriel seem far away now. Akavir, Valenwood, Colovia; they all feel so distant—so detached from everything that matters here. In the Clockwork City, labors matter. Logic matters. Order matters. As an apostle of Lord Seht, I can make a real contribution. And I can honestly say, if anyone is worthy of supplanting Reman Cyrodiil in my heart, it's Sotha Sil.

I struggled with the thought of worshiping him, initially—mostly because he seems so uncomfortable with the idea. I worried that our conversations would cease, or that he would think less of me. Luckily, he seemed pleased when I told him the news.

"I can think of none better." he said. Then he knelt down beside Marius, and took his tiny hand. For a moment, he seemed very distant—mournful almost. Eventually he whispered, "Your mother is both mighty and wise. I am glad I found the two of you."

I don't know why, but I blurted out, "Why did you save us, anyway?"

Seht paused for a moment, then whispered, "Because one day you will shine a light."

Before I could ask him what he meant, he vanished. Marius laughed at that. He never gets tired of seeing Sotha Sil dissolve in light. For my part, I felt a sense of unease. I hope I didn't offend him.

 

Date: 26 First Seed, 1E 2721 (?)

Something is wrong. Marius collapsed again. According to the monitoring factotum, he grew weak and short of breath, then fell down just outside [the Cloisters. This is the third time in as many weeks.

At first I thought he just pushed himself too hard. Nine year-old boys have a tendency to overexert, and he's always been a bit frail. But when I found him in his room, his face was pallid and there was a rattle in his voice. He asked me what was wrong. I told him I honestly didn't know. I'll take him to see the Factotum Medica tomorrow.

 

Date: 9 Rain's Hand, 1E 2721 (?)

After days of tests, the factotums and clinicians finally gave Marius a diagnosis: birth-related heart defect. Apparently, the circumstances of his birth (my ruined body, his severe prematurity, and the journey through the veil) caused some kind of hemorrhage, or twisting of the arteries. In Tamriel, he'd likely be dead already. Or rather, dead a second time.

I asked for a prognosis, but the factotums refused to offer one, citing a wide range of potential outcomes. He could see thirty or he could die tomorrow. In either case, his life will be difficult and brief. I remain (uncharacteristically) optimistic. Lord Seht has mended worse injuries and brought people within a breath of passing back to life. Here in the Clockwork City, a defect like his can't possibly be terminal. I will petition Sotha Sil as soon as he emerges from seclusion."


	42. Proctor Luciana's Journal, Vol 3

Date: 16 Sun's Height, 1E 2722 (?)

It's been over a year, and Sotha Sil still hasn't returned from the Cogitum Centralis. Marius's health continues to deteriorate. He spends most days in his room, studying or conducting his alchemical experiments. I'm pleased to report he has a rare gift when it comes to potions and tinctures. He loves to forage for reagents. Of course, finding living ingredients can prove difficult in the Radius. I restrict his adventures in herbalism to an hour a day. He resents me for it, but he's smart enough to know why he can't remain outside the walls of the fortress for long.

The Factotums tell me that each passing day makes Marius's condition more serious. I hope that Lord Seht emerges soon.

 

Date: 5 Second Seed, 1E 2724 (?)

Three years and still no sign of Sotha Sil. The other Clockwork Apostles tell me it could be decades or even centuries before he returns. Obviously, Marius and I don't have that kind of time.

We've settled into a comfortable routine nonetheless. While I attend to matters in the fortress and help tame portions of the Radius, Marius tinkers away with his flasks and alembics—laboring for the glory of Sotha Sil. He keeps pestering me about limb replacement, saying that a brass hand could help increase accuracy during sensitive measurements. I keep telling him "maybe next year," but I'm not sure how much longer that will work. He's strong-willed. Bull-headed even. Can't imagine where he gets that from.

His experiments continue to astound. To everyone's surprise, he invented a palliative that reduces his heartbeat to a quarter of its natural tempo without any obvious side effects. The factotums estimate it might increase his life expectancy at a commensurate rate. But again, nothing's certain. Direct intervention by Sotha Sil remains his best chance for recovery. If the Clockwork God doesn't come out of seclusion soon, I may have to take matters into my own hands.

 

Date: 14 Sun's Dusk, 1E 2728 (?)

Marius turned sixteen today. At least I think it's sixteen. Time inside the Clockwork City moves in mysterious ways. We celebrated with a trip to the top of the Clockwork Basilica. I had to carry him most of the way, as he doesn't have the stamina for long walks anymore.

I'd never actually been to the top of the tower before. Sweeping vistas are meant for poets and lovers—I am neither. I spend my days in the dusty streets and the lantern-lit hallways of the basilica—shielded from the raw immensity of the city. But as I watched Marius marvel at Seht's bands sliding along the glass of the Celestiodrome, and the harsh desert of the Radius stretched out below, something moved inside me. I saw that this city truly is my home—more of a home than Cyrodiil ever was. I see now that I will never return to Tamriel. I will live and die here in the Clockwork City.

 

Date: 22 Second Seed, 1E 2730 (?)

Things move quickly now. I found Marius slumped next to his alchemy table this morning—barely responsive. I moved him to his bed, summoned one of our foremost clinicians and a handful of factotums to watch over him, and prepared for my journey into the Cogitum.

The more senior apostles urged me to reconsider, but patience is a luxury I can no longer afford. Only Sotha Sil can save Marius. If I can wake Lord Seht from his dreams, I know he'll do what's necessary to save my son. May Seht bless these honest labors. Time to go.


	43. Proctor Luciana's Journal, Vol 4

Date: 31 Last Seed, 1E 2750 (?)

I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I kept this journal for Marius's benefit, but he's gone now. Twenty years gone. Time supposedly makes things easier—dulls the pain. But my grief is deeper now than it's ever been.

Busyness. Order. These things help. I threw myself into my work—marshaling the apostles into a stronger, leaner, more effective order. I cracked down on crime, published a treatise on Marius's alchemical experiments, focused on my spellcraft; but none of these accomplishments come close to filling gaping hole my son left behind.

I never told anyone what took place in the Cogitum all those years ago. People are rightly afraid to broach the topic. Even now, twenty years later, my anger glows white-hot.

Betrayal—that's the only word I can think of. I forded through the Centralis as quickly as I could, destroying any hostile factotum, fabricant, and mechanical trap that stood between me and Lord Seht. When I reached the Throne Aligned, I found Sotha Sil sitting on the stairs leading to his seat of power. He didn't even look up.

"I know why you're here," he said.

I was so naive then, I smiled and rushed toward him like a child. "Good!" I cried. "We have to move quickly. Marius is near to passing."

But Sotha Sil didn't stand up. He didn't even look me in the eye. "I am sorry," he said. "I cannot give you what you seek."

I stumbled over my words, trying to understand what he was saying. I just repeated myself like an idiot, thinking perhaps that he hadn't heard me. "Marius is dying. We have to get back to him as soon as possible!"

He stood up and pursed his lips before speaking. "I'm sorry," was his only reply.

We stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I shook my head and whispered, "I don't understand. My body was ruined and you healed me. It's only Marius's heart that needs mending."

Seht approached, placed a brass hand on my shoulder and said, "You misunderstand. It is within my power to heal Marius, but circumstances make it impossible. I grieve with you, Luciana."

I looked up and there were tears in his eyes. I felt a great rage rise up within me. I reached for my hammer, and lifted it above my head just before Seht whispered a banishing word and sent me hurtling back toward the surface.

Marius died two days later. Sotha Sil remains in the Cogitum Centralis to this day.

The other apostles offered the same trite consolations I used to give to the grieving parents of men who died under my command in the Imperial Legion. "It was his time." "He lived a good and honorable life." On and on. But in my heart, I will never forgive Sotha Sil. Never. I will remain a proctor of the apostles. I will always safeguard the city I love, and uphold the laws and traditions of the order. But my adoration for the Clockwork God has shriveled and starved.

This is my final entry. For any who choose to read this journal, know only this: Sotha Sil gives and takes without consultation or mercy. Do not mistake his interest for empathy. Do not mistake assistance for authentic acts of kindness. Some are saved, others are sacrificed. That's just the way of things in the Clockwork City.


	44. Realms of the Clockwork City: The Radius

The magnificent and awe-inspiring creation of Lord Seht is so much more than just a haven for the Father of Mysteries. Innumerable secure chambers, manufactories, laboratories, and terrariums house the objects of his experimentation, to be discovered and studied by the most diligent of his devoted Apostles.

Within this series of volumes, I shall describe in brief some of the more well-known of Lord Seht's minor realms within the Clockwork City. Know that this is far from an exhaustive list, for the breadth of the City may well be infinite within this seemingly finite space.

Most familiar to denizens of the Brass Fortress is the realm known as the Radius. This stretch of fabricated wilderness stretches from the walls of the Fortress out to the periphery of the Clockwork City, and is home to an artificial ecology that was deemed by Lord Seht to be as familiar and soothing to denizens of Tamriel as could be crafted.

Primus, note the fabricant flora that sprouts from the metallic soil, its bark and leaves reflecting light in perfect quantities. It is true that very little grows within the Clockwork City, limited to dedicated projects such as the Wellspring or as transient fungi brought in by itinerant and accidental visitors. It is therefore necessary that many of the creatures one will encounter in the Radius are predatory. Fabricant beasts, designed to emulate the form and function of their Tamrielic counterparts, are indeed alive and constructed of an amalgam of grown flesh and metallic grafts. A wise Apostle avoids the most brute and hulking of these creatures, for they require sustenance apart from that which their soul gem matrices supply.

Secundus, behold the accumulation of shimmering lubricants that pool within the lowlands and gullies of the Radius. This slurry is a mixture of machine grease, the humours and fluids of fabricant and Apostle alike, and a myriad of substances churned out by the incalculable amount of factories beneath the surface. The lubricants flow and are collected in basins across the Radius, to be drawn into automated cleaning facilities and pumped back into the devices that distribute them to necessary environments. Most of the lubricants in the Radius collect in the Mire Mechanica, presumably Lord Seht's approximation of Tamrielic swamps.

Tertius, the Radius is home to one of the numerous weather regulation and fluid treatment facilities in the Clockwork City. Our proximity to it ensures that we experience neither extreme heat nor cold, and that there is always sufficient clean water to ingest. Nevertheless, the delicate balance of fabricant, man, and mer demands that the Brass Fortress carefully consider its population and intake requirements.

Of course, the Radius is only one of many realms within the Clockwork City. In our next volume, we shall touch upon some of the more unusual experiments conducted by the Father of Mysteries, as well as conjecture into the reasons for their existence.


	45. Residential Logistics Log

Living Residents of Clockwork City (Fortress and Region 6) - 176

Place of residency:  
Brass Fortress: 112  
Ventral Terminus: 2  
Mnemonic Planisphere: 2  
Everwound Wellspring: 25  
Radius: 35

Resident Satisfaction Rating (Log 16788): Compiled by AIOS

Wealth disparity increased by 7% over period of analysis. Recommend increasing increasing access to raw goods by commensurate amount. Root cause primarily psychological. High-wealth sample array displays ambition and dissatisfaction ranks in excess of 15. Potential interpersonal hostility rating increased to "moderate."

Occurrence of constabulary malfeasance remains at unsafe levels. Recommend ancillary surveys to determine mental fitness of all constables.

Nutrition rating within acceptable norms. Net effect of taste on resident satisfaction remains negative. Recommend increasing salt inclusion by 3% over next analysis period.

Copulation and morbidity rate returning to sustainable norms. Past-additives proving effective.

Apostle innovation and publication-rate increased by 4% over analysis period. Daylight extension likely caused. Recommend adding another twelve minutes to daylight cycles to test hypothesis.


	46. Security Survey

Factotums report substantial increase in sentry coil malfunctions on Radial periphery. Cave networks both east and west of the Brass Fortress now experience routine security blackout periods.

Factotum loss-rates also experiencing spike over survey period. AIOS tabulation indicates seventeen partitions remain unaccounted for. Recovery beacons either missing or malfunctioning in all cases. Recommend full Apostle survey of affected zones. Cross-reference with resident distress-reports A77645 and X99876. Both refer to "black-robed" figures in relevant regions.

Interior Security Rating decreased to 83%.


	47. Shadows and Whispers

Creeping, crawling, creeping, crawling.

They whisper, whisper, whisper to me. Do you hear it? It's low and steady. Crawls into your ears, rattles through your head. Shadows growing darker. The darkness is right under your eyelids. Black, eternal, inescapable. Creeping, crawling.

I am Her servant, loyal. I must be loyal. The shadows will catch me. I once thought myself quick, clever, able to pick any lock, there and back without a trace. I was ready, willing to give all to Her. I could not do otherwise, I knew. I felt. The darkness had seeped into my skin. I could taste it on my tongue, like the oil that coats this city.

Her shrikes sang to me, a haunting tune. I can't describe. I don't to, I can't, I won't. Always singing. The rhythm beat itself into my blood, my heart pumping in time. Slow, steady, slow, steady. Always singing, dreams coated in black. I'm drowning, I can't breath, but Her song fills me still.

I'm creeping, crawling, a roach of Clockwork. Her insect, set to Her bidding. Shadows, I've become a shadow. I'm darkness, a stain upon the wall. My blade is coated in blood, red against the black. Warm, so warm, but my fingers feel like ice.

I'm trapped in brass, in cogs and wheels. The singing remains, but the song is gone. No tune, no music, but whispers set to rhytm. Serve Her, be shadow, be whispers. Creeping, crawling, but I can't escape. I'm caught in the darkness, tar which clings to my clothes. I speak but am silent. I see but am blind. Blind, so blind, to nothing but Her will.

The crows are laughing, but I cannot. The shrikes are singing, but I cannot. The world is bright, but I am darkness. I am whispers. You will not hear me before I strike.


	48. Sotha Nall

A soul that deserved transcendence. May her song be heard in the hiss of every piston and the sigh of every spring.


	49. Steady Hands

I looked upon my hands, and I saw only flaws. Wrinkly and weak things. They shook when I needed them steady, they ached when the nights grew cold. I began to depend on my apprentices for many of my daily needs, more useless than a babe clinging to his mother's skirts. Even the simple task of feeding myself began to turn into a sloppy affair. I was ever aware of these constant tremors, of this pathetically human imperfection that was forced upon me. But the Brass Fortress is the hub of innovation, of the defective turned useful once more.

Modifications are made when a mechanism is in need of a new function. Time had sundered my once steady hands with my still working mind. I did it not for vanity, but to cleanse myself of my putrid separation. To weld my broken parts together. The procedure was as painless and efficient as I had been promised, and for the price that was asked I expected no less. I slept on and off for hours afterward, my mind filled with steam. And then I awoke. Truly awoke.

I caught sight of my gleaming palms, and I suddenly felt at peace. Calm, tranquil, I was once more a cog upon which made up the great winding. Part of the reciprocating motion, the Sublime Piston. This metal extension was a truth of my soul. Brass fingers curved in perfect synchrony, smooth and elegant. I was not simply made whole again, no. I was made far greater than I had ever been.

I had found a truth, a singularity. I transcended mere flesh and blood. My fingers now remained as steady and sure as my devotion. I looked upon my hands, and I saw the possibilities.


	50. Stealing the Stars

Knocking down the stars we need is a delicate process. You'll have to be careful. These memories are almost impossible to tell apart, and I don't want us to be running around the halls trying to find the ones we need. It'll take patience and precision, something I know that many of our members lack.

Remember that She does not tolerate failure well.


	51. Stuck in the Slag

Honestly don't know why I'm writing this. Who's even gonna read it? Not any citizens under my jurisdiction, that's for damn sure. Honest though? Not even sure how many of them could read it, if they half a mind to. Our gleaming city is filled with scholars, but do any of them think to come down to ole Slag Town to help the poor, tarnished masses? Course not.

Sometimes I help the little ones learn their letters, between jobs. They're the only ones who give me the time of day. But I know soon they'll be off with jobs of their own, and they won't have time to listen to their dear old deputy natter on about vowels and verbs. My mum had the patience of a saint, and even I barely got through my own learning.

I want to set the record clear, here and now, about us scrap in Slag Town. No, we ain't stupid. No, we ain't lazy. And no, we certainly ain't deserving of our lot. Don't you go listening to them up in that shining city, those scholars who think they're so far above us. We got the kind of smarts that gets you out of close calls. Guts aplenty, cunning to spare. You don't survive long without something driving you.

Oh, sure, there's a way out. Muster up enough magic, show some technical know-how, and there you go. Had me an aunt who was real keyed in with machines, just somehow everything lined up in her head. She would take apart automatons and put them back together, just by looking at its guts. Wasn't long before she was whisked away, never to return. My mum received not one visit, not even a single letter. Once you leave the Slag, you don't look back, and who could really blame them? Not much of a sight.

Sometimes I envy the factotums. All they need is a quick windup and some sort of instruction, and off they go! I'd rather that some days, then the dreary path I'm walking. Barely enough to eat, living off the so-called charity of those who think they're better than us. Enough to make you sick. Enough to make you want to leave it all behind, but where do you go? Ain't nowhere to go. Not the city, not the wastelands that surround us. You sit in the muck and you try to get by.


	52. Terari's Notes

I think he's wandering to places familiar to him. He's returned to the site of my first workshop. Where we met. I don't think he can recognize it in its current disrepair. He's just wandering and crying out. Lost, alone, and in pain. Bolin, forgive me.  
—  
I risked approaching him in a quiet moment, but my presence only seemed to agitate him. He pleaded to know what happened to him, but he grew violent in his distress and his body is frighteningly strong. I fled him, but that only made matters worse. I heard the upset rampage echoing the canyon walls.  
—  
It's hard to sleep here. This used to be a happy place. Our happy home. Now it's rust and ruin. The laughter we shared here, replaced by the distant weeping of a machine that can't shed tears.  
—  
How long have I been out here now? How many times have I tried to calm that poor broken soul? I can't take it. But I suppose I deserve this.  
—  
I tried to kill him. I just want him to have peace, but I can't manage it. No matter what I do, I only cause him pain. I must be cursed.


	53. The Astronomer's Power

The Astronomer's command over these stars is great, but he did not come upon this power naturally. We now know that he was given this ability, along with a seemingly endless lifespan. How this power was given or what exactly it is, well, we're not sure. But we know how to find out.

Now is the time to strike, while his control over the Planisphere wanes. Luck could not be more on our side, or perhaps our Mistress has given us more aid than I first believed. No matter. We all know the value of acting quickly, before the opportunity is lost.


	54. The Ballad of Brisbor Battle-Axe (verse six)

Brisbor's passions burned, a conflagration of forbidden desire,  
Given cruel voice by the charred flesh of his enemies,  
Death sang out its mournful dirge, and ripped the souls asunder.


	55. The Blackfeather Court

My ongoing quest for information regarding the Daedric realms and their inhabitants led me to investigate rumors of a portal in the city of Davon's Watch. After much searching, I discovered an entrance to a pocket realm within the Evergloam, a place known only as the Crow's Wood. Similar in its ominous feel to the rest of Nocturnal's mysterious realm, the Crow's Wood appears as a dark marsh full of dangerous creatures. Most notably, a murder of intelligent, talking crows inhabits the area and considers the place to be its personal kingdom. Here is what I learned during my brief sojourn to the Crow's Wood.

The crows organize themselves using a feudal system and refer to their flock as the Blackfeather Court. These birds claim to be the spawn of a hagraven they call the Crow Mother, and they constantly strive to defend their domain from wolves, giant bats, and other predatory creatures that roam the shadowy realm. The Duke of Crows leads the Court. This large, proud bird presides over the rest of the flock because, as he tells it, he's "the smartest and biggest and loudest" crow in the murder. Indeed, for these noisy, talkative birds, the ability to stand out among the crowd is considered not only a necessity, but a symbol of prestige. The rest of the flock clusters and conspires around the Duke of Crows, engaging in their insistent plotting and politicking for status and favor.

Not that the Duke of Crows appears to do much more than preen and bluster. The real work of the Blackfeather Court, such as it is, falls to the Seneschal of Carrion and the Court Castellan. Both of these birds serve the Duke of Crows, but they evidently have the freedom and authority to perform independently to keep the Court operating efficiently—or, at least as efficiently as any group of intelligent birds can manage. The Seneschal of Carrion takes care of the assorted domestic arrangements for the Court, as well as acting as the steward for the Duke of Crows. The Seneschal also adjudicates the various tributes of death and carnage regularly heaped upon the Court. (Although to be fair, except for the tributes they requested of me, I saw no one else seeking the favor of the Duke of Crows and his flock during my visit.) The Court Castellan, on the other hand (wing?), acts as the governor of the Court. This involves overseeing the various knights and knaves that serve the Court, including the Knights of Marrow, Pith, Gore, and Vitreous, and the Knaves of Rooks, Pipes, and Ravens. As with everything surrounding the Court, there appears to be more attention paid to pomp and circumstance than to actually accomplishing anything of substance.

Eventually, it falls to the Bursar of Tributes, a feathered accountant of sorts, to sort and catalog the tributes of death and carnage that add to the Court's ever-growing hoard of shiny objects. The crows charge visitors who enter the realm, either a toll of flesh or silver, to grant temporary safe passage through the Crow's Wood. Anyone who refuses to pay, be they featherless tourists or birds of a different persuasion, is subject to any and every disgrace and degradation the crows can come up with, including incessant cawing, pecking, and foul droppings on heads and fancy clothing. I paid the toll for an opportunity to wander among the Court and talk to its members, but it isn't clear to me that such a payment was absolutely necessary. They are just crows, after all.

As I prepared to depart the Crow's Wood, the Knave of Ravens sidled over to me, fixed me with her curious sideways gaze, and uttered this ominous proclamation: "Pay attention, featherless cur! Today the Blackfeather Court rules the Crow's Wood. But tomorrow? Tomorrow the Night Mistress has grander plans for our respected murder!" The word followed me back to Tamriel, along with an echo of caws. "Murder!"

I may never feel completely safe around a gathering of birds again.


	56. The Defense of Mournhold

Let all heed the lessons of Mournhold, where ALMSIVI's wrath shattered Oblivion's favored son. Curse! Curse! Curse the name of calamity's tyrant king!


	57. The Fabricated Fauna of Clockwork

Oh, how I longed for the lush landscapes and diverse wildlife that make up Tamriel. How did I not appreciate it before? The green fields of Auridon, the deep woods of Valenwood. Skyrim's majestic mountains, topped with snow. The dangerous beauty of the Black Marsh. How I missed it all, reduced was I to this city of brass, surrounded by barren wastelands.

Or so I thought, for quite the longest time. My life's work as not the study of machines or people, but rather the animals that surround us every day. I despaired when I first came to Clockwork City, thinking my career as a revered naturalist had come to an end. But all I had to do was look a little harder, and eventually I found new species to study, ones made of metal and gears rather than flesh and sinew.

I've compiled a list of the more memorable species of "creatures" found within the city, if I may be so bold as to call them that. Their appearance certainly mimics their more natural counterparts, and strangely enough so does their behavior. What their creators had in mind, I do not know. They seem to hold little function, but rather add life to this barren land.

 

Brassilisk

The brassilisk is created from interconnected brass squares, exposed copper wiring allowing for its snakelike movement. Popular as a pet, you'll often see them following the quick footsteps of the young scholars. A rather lovely and most prized model mimics the leathery wings of the sep adder. This creature comes in a variety of colors, and while it may display aggressive behaviour it is not equipped to attack others.

 

Skeevaton

Though I do not delight in speculation, the rumored origins of this creature do fascinate me. The skeevaton takes the form of a copper mouse. It possesses no legs, traveling by a rotating ball fitted within its middle. In a city filled to the brim with mechanizations of all kinds, what could be more inconspicuous? The legend goes that its inventor created the skeevaton with the purpose of spying on his or her fellow scholars. Something to keep in mind the next time you see one of them staring up at you from the alleyway.

 

Seht's Dovah-Fly

This mechanical insect that flutters through the stagnant city air is thought to be a collaboration of two ill-fated lovers. Once again, I'm not usually one for rumor, but this story does have quite the emotional appeal. Two apprentices fell in love, but were forced never to see each other because of a long-standing feud between their lectors. Seht's Dovah-Fly was created as a messenger, delivering communications between them. So impressed were their masters by this elegant creation that they set aside their feud aside and allowed their apprentices to collaborate on future projects. A delightful tale I must admit, whether it be true or not.


	58. The Factotum's Secret Voice

Even in this shrine to knowledge and blasphemous inquiry, some subjects remain taboo. I spent all my long years as a Clockwork Apostle pushing against those boundaries—desperate to see our order truly live its creed: inquiry without limits. In most cases, I endured little more than sighs and grumbles from my superiors. But one topic in particular earns me forceful and genuine condemnation: my exploration of the factotum's inner voice.

The order's relationship with fabricants and factotums has always been prickly. On one hand, we must understand some critical aspects of these creatures' make-up. Their nature and materials informed the creation of our own enhancements. The synthesis of flesh and engineering remains one of our greatest achievements and most enduring traditions. However, delving too deep into the creatures' subroutines and manufacture starts to look less and less like inquiry, and more and more like hubris. Lifting Sotha Sil's skirts, as it were.

For my part, I have always been endlessly fascinated by the factotum's voice and behavior. While the factotums perform multitudinous different tasks, they remain linked by their appearance, voice, and confusing (some would say "troubling") verbal artifacts.

When exodromals meet a factotum for the first time, they often ask, "whose voice is that?" Truthfully, no one knows (aside for Lord Seht, of course.) I've spent countless days in the Archivox researching Lord Seht's past. I even got special dispensation to visit the Mnemonic Planisphere once. I'm confident that the truth of the factotum's voice lies somewhere in Lord Seht's personal history.

Most apostles avoid talking about it, with some notable exceptions, (my friend, Associate Zanon, for example.) If engaged privately, however, apostles will offer one of three major theories. Some believe the voice is that of Sotha Sil's mother. Others think it's the voice of a lost lover. Then, still others (myself included) believe it's the voice of Sotha Sil's sister.

The first and most compelling piece of evidence can be found in the Elegiac Replication—a personal memorial of sorts that Lord Seht built in the Radius long ago. One of the memorial plaques refers to a "Sotha Nall." It states that this Sotha Nall possessed a "soul that deserved transcendence"—implying a life beyond natural limitations. Nall's face bears a clear resemblance to that of the Clockwork God, indicating that she was a close family member. Her garb does not appear matronly, and her posture does not conform to any psycho-artistic trends that would indicate motherly affection. Additionally, I've seen more than a few references to the fact that Sotha Sil was not an only child. Taken together, I think this makes a clear case for Sotha Nall as sister.

Naturally, this leads to all kinds of uncomfortable questions about what a soul's "transcendence" means in this context. Does some aspect of Nall's animus exist inside the brass laborers we find all over the city? I would say "no" if not for the verbal artifacts.

When faced with a query that requires higher cognition, factotums often recite a non sequitur in two parts—brief statements that have a loose connection to one another but no discernible connection to the larger conversation. These non sequiturs (also known as "verbal artifacts") tend to be simple recitations of household "scenes" They refer to overturned pots, rain on glass, boots by the fire, and so on. Occasionally they stray into more personal terrain, like the complexion of an old woman's hands, or the sound of someone weeping. Then, once in a very great while, they will say something genuinely troubling—statements like "burning beds ... screaming" or "collapsed roof ... crushed child." Factotums that say things like that tend to be recalled to the Pneumatic Forge in short order and taken out of circulation indefinitely. But this of course begs the question: where are these verbal artifacts coming from? Are they Sotha Nall's memories? Or some vital sub-function that enhances empathic responses to the concerns of living residents? Though it pains me to consider it, I believe the evidence points to the former rather than the latter. As everyone knows, the False Prince called Mehrunes Dagon, destroyed Sotha Sil's ancestral home of Ald Sotha when our lord was still a youth—leaving him as the sole survivor. Scenes of fire and death may well have been Sotha Nall's final and most traumatic memories.

I hope it's not true. I hope all these various observations are the product of simple coincidence. But, as scholars, we must acknowledge the possibility that these machines have a deeper and more troubling history than we realize. As I said before, I take my role as an iconoclast seriously. But In this case, perhaps it's best if we never know the truth.


	59. The Imperfect Logistics Log

Current Combat Success Rate - 66%

Combat analysis:  
Opponents Deceased: 126  
Opponents Forfeit: 58  
Opponents Successful: 93

Imperfect Structural Analysis (Log 17901): Compiled by AIOS

Opponent success rate increased by 3% over period of analysis. Recommend increasing defensive capabilities of Kinetic Shield function to maintain structural integrity throughout battle sequence. Caution in overloading security coils through excessive power surges. Further analysis needed.

Reduction in power to the Energy Arc function applied to decrease the risk of structural damage to the Sanctuary of Verification. Recommend ancillary services be maintained between battle sequences. Current debris levels deemed acceptable for combat.

Opponent classification: Nord, Khajiit, Bosmer found to be consistently unpredictable in battle behavior. Current theories in statistical commonalities not yet available. Recommend further analysis on cultural irregularities and battle tactics within these opponent subclasses.

Clockwork Facilitator task acceptance rate decreased by 23%. Root cause primarily psychological. Recommend the elimination of the words "slaughter," "decapitation," and "likely death." Emphasis to be placed on reward and need for combat allies.

Completion rate of Imperfect prototype: unknown.


	60. The Law of Gears

In Lord Seht's name, these are the words of the Laws of Gears, annotated with one interpretation of the lesson each law teaches.

***

Like a clockwork contraption that consists of many cogs and sprockets, most of us have gears we never use. This is the First Law of Gears, which teaches us that we are capable of more than we believe.

Someone has to crank the flywheel to turn the gears. This is the Second Law of Gears, which teaches us that nothing can be accomplished without hard work.

If the works become gummed up, avoid grinding the gears. This is the Third Law of Gears, which teaches us to think and find another way instead of blindly pressing forward.

Perspiration and hard work turn the gears of invention. This is the Fourth Law of Gears, which teaches us that drudgery comes before inspiration.

Strive to be more than just another cog in the gears of reality. This is the Fifth Law of Gears, which urges us to reach for even the impossible dream.

You have to disassemble the mechanism before you can fiddle with the gears. This is the Sixth Law of Gears, which teaches us to break a problem down to its core components before attempting to solve it.

A pause or a hitch can cause a gear to slip. This is the Seventh Law of Gears, which teaches us that interruptions are counterproductive.

Only a well-oiled gear turns smoothly. This is the Eighth Law of Gears, which teaches us that training and preparation are the lubricants of innovation.

All cogs and sprockets serve the Great Gear. This is the Ninth Law of Gears, which reminds us that we owe fealty and obedience to Lord Seht above all else.

This is the sequence of the words.


	61. The Memories of Sotha Sil

Memories are fleeting, flawed, and fragile. So easily overwritten by emotion and prejudice. I cannot think of a more unregulated recording of events, which is why I commit my thoughts into the unchanging metal of my sequence plaques. But even the most objective view can still hold bias, and words can only convey so much. The engravings on this plaque pale to the complexity of a simple human thought, with all the nuances and richness that even a common mind can hold.

Lord Seht knows this. After all, his heart drives the Wheels Eternal, oiled and calibrated. This we know. To become that which is the only true name, which is not Name, one's mind must be polished. Synchronized. How to accomplish such a task? Even a god may become overburdened with the weight of emotions, fractured from the whole which is logic.

But in this too the Clockwork God was wise. He gave his memories form, manifestation. Glowing stars to make up the galaxy of his thoughts. Tangible and real, far more real than ink upon parchment, than words or whispers. Whole and perfect, and only able to be so from the strength of his divinity, his gleaming and peerless mind which holds the true order of all.

Memories are flawed, yes, but they are precious all the same. They hold our wisdom and knowledge, all that which we are. To give them away would be squandering that gift, and this too Lord Seht knew. So he preserved these precious thoughts, locked safely with his Mnemonic Planisphere. Watched over by the ever-silent Astronomer. A multitude of stars which no longer held emotional sway over him, no, but still remained connected, known.

It's quiet in the Planisphere, but one hears whispers. A low hum of voices seem to echo within the halls. Those figures of the past, lost but not forgotten. Come to light once more.


	62. The Mystery of Artaeum

A Report for the Proxy Queen  
By Penewen, Advisor to the Court

To Her Magnificence, Proxy to Queen Ayrenn,

I continue to follow up on the rumors that members of the Psijic Order have returned to the world after a long and unexplained absence. I have it on good authority that at least one prominent Psijc monk, the High Elf Lilatha, has made an effort to contract champions with a warning concerning the return of the Clockwork City of Sotha Sil. I shall endeavor to discover the reasons for these reappearances and try to determine if they point to the return of Artaeum as well.

Our military leaders have expressed concern over these events. A number of our religious scholars have also expressed concern, as they appear to be evenly divided on the opinion as to whether or not the return of Artaeum (if indeed it has returned) indicated good portents or ill omens.

I uncovered the following details about the island from ancient records. Idyllic orchards, clear pastures, and misty woodlands make up the majority of the island's terrain, along with a number of still and silent lagoons. Eyewitness reports from more than five hundred years ago - the last time Artaeum was known to be present off the southwest coast of Summerset - describe the unique architecture that appeared to be as natural as the countryside surrounding it. The Cephorah Tower [sic] supposedly rises above the isle. This relic from an age before the High Elves serves as the headquarters of the mysterious Psijic Order and guards the entrance to the Dreaming Cave. Legends say that Sotha Sil, among others, used the cave as a sort of portal for traveling to the realms of Oblivion. The records indicate that Artaeum disappeared from its location in Tamriel some three hundred-and-fifty years ago.

The gray-cloaked members of the Psijic Order, a magical monastic society that pre-dates the Mages Guild, once served as advisors on spiritual and magical matters to the rulers of Tamriel. Whether these sightings of Artaeum mages signals the return of the Psijics to political concerns, we have not bee able to determine. We have almost not been able to confirm if the Ritemaster Iachesis still leads the ancient order, as numerous requests to meet with Psijic representatives have been ignored.

Additional information about the Psijic Order follows.

The Psijic monks follow the "Old Ways," combining mysticism, the Eleven Forces, and the divine laws that bind and define the nature of reality into a philosophy and way of life. They are said to have a deep understanding of the Ehlnofey, also known as the Earth Bones, the descendants of the Aedra who once walked Tamriel and gave rise to the races of man and mer. Much of the ritual-based magic the order employs utilizes this understanding, supposedly granting them influence over time and weather. In their day, they were the world's preeminent scryers, capable of perceiving events across great distances of time and space. It is said they also command powers of communications superior to other practitioners of magic.

What this means for Summerset and the Aldmeri Dominion has yet to be ascertained. It would behoove us to acquire the services of the Psijic Order for our alliance, but so far they have refused all efforts on our part to open a dialogue of any sort. We have also received reports from spies in Morrowind that Sotha Sil's Clockwork City has been located. His association with the Psijic Order and Artaeum are well documented, so I shall make a journey to the land of the Dark Elves to conduct a scouting mission and try to determine if the return of the Psijics and the opening of the Clockwork City have any connection. It could be that something significant is brewing at a level well beyond our mortals concerns.

I will return as soon as I am able.

Advisor Penewen


	63. The Mystery of Factotums

One must ponder the absence of academic interest in the field of factotums among the Clockwork Apostles, for machines that are so much a part of our daily lives, they are given very little thought. Few lectures are focused on them, few books are written. Why are these machines, so vital to the everyday processes of our existence, so ignored?

Factotums are an invention of need, servants of brass created by Lord Seht to maintain his great creation, the Clockwork City. Repair factotums may keep our many factories and functions running. Guard factotums secure the locations of our god's most dangerous secrets. By their metal hands our homes are kept clean, our food is served, and music flows throughout our streets. But how much do we truly know about the factotums which we work so closely with?

The answer lies in the mysterious nature of the factotums. Though our doctrines speak of mysteries, their importance and their prominence, they are still something we seek to solve. A formula, a theory, an answer which can be replicated again and again. That is what Clockwork Apostles seek with their fields of studies, for why strive for innovation when there are simply no discoveries to be found?

What we do know is that the factotums have a common appearance, voice, and sense of purpose. They hold a structured intelligence, often centered on their singular function. Their dialogue and actions are all based on this function, with only the commonality of a devotion to the Clockwork God. Attempts to deviate from this purpose is simply incomprehensible to them.

Any further research factotums is constantly met with opposition. Their place of creation is heavily guarded. Their functions severely limit the amount of information they can give about themselves. We don't know which manner or magic or machinery goes into their creation and that's exactly why we need to further our research on them!

I seek to delve into the secrets of perhaps the most enigmatic of Lord Seht's creations. My research's focus will center on the structure, functions, and true purpose of these seemingly straightforwards machines. I shall finally gain insight into what is perhaps the greatest mystery in all of Clockwork City.


	64. The Truth in Sequence: Volume 7

By the word, I wind the gears.

Think now on the wheel. To all things it appertains.

Is there anything so sacred as the wheel? Like Tamriel Final, the wheel both moves and does not move. Anuvanna'si. The axle sleeps, while the spokes make haste—round and round in reflective circles. Now, here dwells a Nameless secret, child of the Tribunal: does a thing move when it moves in circles?

Motion lies at the heart of the Nirn Ensuing, but not all motion is Nameless. Not all movement earns His blessing.

The Divine Metronome calls the first motion "The Motion of Lines." Line-motion is the motion of simple minds—the motion of weak wills and scholars' vanity. "Forward!" it cries! Forward to the fruits of cheap ambition. Forward to the promise of everlasting kingdoms. Forward to the mirage that the sages call "progress." These misguided pioneers venture out into their wild tomorrows, and the tomorrows after that, certain of their worth—their virtue. But what profits a man or mer to gaze deep into a single future? The aims of mortals are narrow, far too narrow! To move forward is to ignore infinite angles in favor of one. It is the act of a beast or a child. The Clockwork God spurns vanity in the guise of courage. These explorers' travels only lead them farther from Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si.

Seht speaks of the second motion only in whispers. "The Pendulum" or "Named Oscillation" is the tic-tock motion—the motion of entropy and false hope. None but the Clockwork God may claim its dark power. With each wide swing it shouts Lorkhan's lie. "Hail, intentions divided! Hail, cursed multitudes!" Do not stand in the Pendulum's path, ash-child. Only the Mainspring Ever-Wound may bear its weight.

Last is the reciprocating motion. "The Sublime Piston." The lover's embrace. Like the Father of Mystery, it gives and takes in equal measure. As the bow upon the strings, it calls forth the sublime. As the carpenter's saw, it wrenches back and forth, sundering the Named pursuits of lesser mer. Only a Nameless heart may harness its strength. The artist, the star-counter, and the engineer call it "muse." The truth-blind multitudes call it "destroyer."

Do you see now, child of the Tribunal? Every movement hides intent. To stray from the wheel is to abandon the Clockwork God. In the Tamriel Final, all shall spin, and only spin. Anuvanna'si.

By the word, I wind the gears.


	65. The Truth in Sequence: Volume 8

By the word, I wind the gears.

Blessed Father of Mystery, place your oil upon my tongue that I might tell the true tale of Mournhold. Behold the strength of untold calculation! Behold the power of the Mainspring Ever-Wound!

Every Nameless soul must confess the truth of Mournhold, for many lessons hide in its ashes. Sing now the hymn of anguish and horror, child of Seht! Behold, Mehrunes Dagon, Sovereign of Destruction! Mehrunes Dagon, the Flame Tyrant! Mehrunes Dagon, Father of Cataclysm! Recall how he marched upon Almalexia's jewel! Do you remember how his Will burned like kiln-fire, and hot pitch fell from his lips? Aloft, he held four great razors. Each sang a screeching paean to glorify him. Torrents of flame fell upon the innocent and wicked alike, shearing flesh from bone; belching forth widows and orphans in gouts of frothing screams.

"Who dares to face me, draped as I am in fire and blood?" roared Dagon. The dark Prince beat his breast and howled long-forgotten curses. The dead burst forth from their tombs, shrieking for mercy. Geysers of black liquid-sin erupted from below, flooding ruined homes with torrid lies and conspiracy. And everywhere, flames—an inferno that turned all souls to ash.

Almalexia, Mother of Mercy, cast her eyes upon the ruins of her gemmed city and wept. To see such love burned and squandered turned her heart to molten brass. Our Clockwork God took note of her fury, sealing the memory away in his great mnemonic planisphere—a reminder of her love's high price.

Rising from the ground like foundry-smoke, the Tribunes confronted the Prince of Disasters. Ayem's voice like a screeching steam-whistle, and Sotha Sil's like a lurching engine.

"ERAM VAR AE ALTADOON!" they cried, rending their garments and donning their killing masks. Ayem drew her bright Hopesfire and skipped over the flames like a river-stone. With a mighty scream, she plunged the blade deep into Dagon's breast and turned it like a jailer's key. Scorching blood spewed out of the wound, scalding her hands and face. As she fell, the Divine Metronome chiseled a thought-rune of infinite angles. Do you remember how the veins of tin, copper, and orichalc erupted from the depths to break our mother's Fall? Through His will alone, Mighty Seht wound the veins into god-bronze whips, and lashed the Prince pitilessly. Dagon hissed and tumbled backward. His otherworldly flesh fell like chaff before the scythe. Alas, a Sarmissonays'um ghoul-thing emerged from every chunk.

A multitude of the creatures gathered around Ayem, fiery tar oozing from their mouths and open sores. They groaned and retched, speaking only Dagon's name as they fell upon her. The Warden hissed thrice, took up her blessed sword, and smote the beasts by the score. She severed head from neck and arm from shoulder, cleaving sin from virtue and shouting old-oaths of banishing. Do you remember how the beasts fell To [sic] her on that red day?

You must recall the howls of Madness! How Dagon foamed and snarled beneath the lash of Sotha Sil! "Behold!" cried the Divine Metronome as He smashed the Prince to splinters. "Behold the wrath of lost Ald Sotha! Know death at my hands, false-son of a false-father! KAER PADOHME VIE ALTADOON!"

Even then, at the end, the Prince of Destruction did not relent. With the last of his four great arms, Dagon dragged the last of his four great razors across the Watchmaker's jaw. Tasting the blood on His tongue, our Father of Mysteries whispered a final chrononymic death-word, and Dagon exploded throughout all time. The earthbones quaked and the All-Axle shook. From this word of sundering, Truth took root.

Mehrunes's ruin slithered between the cracks of Nirn and Oblivion, shrieking curses like a petulant child. The Mainspring Ever-Wound tightened His brass-wrought fist and slammed the gap shut—another small step toward Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. So ends the true account of Mournhold's fall. Remember this tale always.

By the word, I wind the gears.


	66. The Truth in Sequence: Volume 9

By the word, I wind the gears.

The Mainspring Ever-Wound values craft above all things. She who shapes and assembles, he who conceives and creates—these are the true children of the Clockwork God.

Your labors need not whirr and hiss like the sublime clockworks of Sotha Sil. The brush, the auger, the tongs, the needle—each and each may honor the Father of Mysteries, so long as they speak His truth. And what is His truth, child of Seht? Perfection only? No. Hear the words in sequence! Simple precision is naught but the shadow of virtue. Even a faithless smith may fashion the blade with the keenest edge. The perfect sphere, the clearest glass, the truest angle—all fall short of His favor. Only through the purest incongruities and greatest doubts do we earn His blessing. You must think with the thrice-folded mind. You must gaze upon the unsequence.

No mortal may grasp the unsequence fully. We see the edges only—the liminal truths. For some, the unsequence brings despair. Others look upon it with a child's bewilderment. But for the precious few, the Nameless explorers, this thin ray of understanding may serve as the Bridge of Infinite Curve. The Walking Wheel.

Know this, ash-child: only the intrepid mind may walk this path. For you see, the Nameless soul is the tightrope walker that strides in circles only. Below and aside, waits the gaping maw of Sheogorath's lie. Ahead and above, waits Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si.

I hear your cries, child of Seht! "How does one walk the wheel?" you ask. Here lies a Nameless truth. Just as no wrench fits all bolts, no walk fits all souls. For the sculptor, it may mean an angle inverted, or a form transposed—an abandonment of the Named resemblance and an embrace of the abstract. For the scholar of maths, it could require half-mad theorems—rooms of cubic numbers and functions only imagined. For the inventor, it may demand a tool without any known use, or an answer-machine that prints only questions.

Craft perfected, and use obscure: this is the surest path to Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si.

By the word, I wind the gears.


	67. The Truth in Sequence: Volume 10

By the word, I wind the gears.

Beware blind reverence for The Old, child of Seht. The oil of antiquity often fuels the future. Those who ignore the counsel of our blessed ancestors do so at their peril. But not all ruins hide wisdom within their shattered halls. Some ruins are dark and barren places—unsteady graves for lies and curses. Resting places for bent axles, stripped bolts, and the bitter silence of inertia.

In the time before our Father's rise, old and feeble knowledge ruled the hearts of Mer. The children of ash entered their ancestral tombs not in search of truth, but in search of truth's corpse. They saw their forebears not as proud and vigorous guides, but as wheezing, toothless ghosts—guardians of the musty and derelict engines that fools call deep wisdom. You must smash these old machines, child of Seht! The past does not rust upon the scrap pile. It hurtles toward the Mainspring Ever-Wound's glorious and multi-angled future, whipped by the scorching tongues of our honored forebears! Ever do their words and deeds grease the wheels of the Nirn-Ensuing! Ever do they weld the seams of Tamriel Final! Anuvanna'si.

But alas! Even now, stewards of The Old feed aged truth to those who would listen. They are the daughters and sons of PSJJJJ who crouch like gargoyles over musty tomes, faces hidden beneath frayed and graying robes. They counsel caution, temperance, and equanimity—ancient virtues of the fading Nirn-prior. Even so, the Father of Curiosity calls them friends. With a god's patience, He teaches them. With a father's love, He guides them; all in the hopes that one day they may see the deepest truth of The Old: that we must banish our feeble ghosts and give their memory new life through the thrice-folded mind. Toothless gears cannot be repaired—they must be melted and reforged. So it is with our people's truth.

None will deny that the daughters and sons of PSJJJJ wield great power. Like our Clockwork City, their isle of Artaeum glides between what is and what may be. Like our Clockwork Apostles, they study, strive, and create. But power without an infinite future's courage is like an empty boiler—infused with fierce heat but producing no steam. Woe upon those who recoil from Tamriel Final! Anuvanna'si. The will of the Clockwork God turns such cowardice to slag. But rejoice! The Father of Mysteries' affection proves the PSJJJ's worth. One day these lost spellweavers will heed the words of the Divine Metronome and seek the true and noble change—the aratagnithir. On that day we shall embrace them not as friends, but as brothers and sisters.

By the word, I wind the gears.


	68. The Truth in Sequence: Volume 11

By the word, I wind the gears.

I hear your whispers—your puerile laments. Even here in the Clockwork City, bathed in the oil of His divine wisdom, you cry out, "Where are the soft grasses and babbling creeks? Where are the heady wines and rich fruits? Where are the gentle rains, and sighing boughs, and swaying mushrooms?" Like hungry babes you weep, "Where is the Real?" Ease your bellows and steady your gears. You must gaze now upon the brass-wrought truth. See the Real of Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si.

What makes a thing real? Is it the blood, or the sap, or the beating heart? Is it the shrieking trauma of an infant's birth? The low roar of the tides? The root's thirst for water or the lazy drift of distant clouds? No, child of Seht! Hear the words in sequence! Can you not see that your fears spring from Lorkhan's lie? Those soft forms and gentle comforts you covet are naught but corroded lies—fractured creation's panacea that deadens the soul's forgotten pain.

"But is Sotha Sil's sacred city not a replication?" you ask, "A Nirn in miniature?" Hear this, ash-child: the Clockwork City is no mere simulacrum. The copper leaves and sculpted hills are not Nirn's resemblance, but Nirn's refinement—worldly forms made whole by the steady hand of the Mainspring Ever-Wound. The glorious unity of Tamriel Final demands convergence. Anuvanna'si. Mer and machine made whole. Nature and engineering made whole. The past and the future made whole. In time, all of Nirn shall be pressed and fired in this forge of Seht's blessed imaginings—weighed and measured upon the Nameless Scales! Is this not the Real? Is this not the redemption of the et'Ada's sins? Do you see now the impoverished forms of the Nirn-Prior? The cheap and hollow falsehoods that masquerade as nature's splendor?

Seek out the dry, hard places, child of Seht. Anoint your tongue with His oil. Fill your stomach with His nourishing grain. Cast out what was and fix your eyes upon the Nirn-to-come—upon Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si.

By the word, I wind the gears.


	69. The Truth in Sequence: Volume 12

By the word, I wind the gears.

I have spoken the words in sequence, child of Seht. I have guided your eyes to the glorious Nirn-Ensuing—to the inevitable grandeur of Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. I have shouted my grave admonitions and whispered the secrets of the infinite curve. Now, as my engine fails, I bestow upon you my final blessing. You who sing the song of making and set your wheels to axles—you intrepid star-counters who shatter the old machines and smelt new truths from the crude and forgotten ores of the Aurbis—you must hear this ultimate lesson.

Tamriel Final shall change you in ways both grand and terrifying. Anuvanna'si. Just as molten brass cools in its mold, so too will your body take on a new and hardened shape. Just as water changes from liquid to steam, so too will the cheap preoccupations of your mind disperse and fade. Just as oil ignites and powers the engine, so too will your soul glow bright and drive the Wheels Eternal. The unity of Tamriel Final must wash away our selfish pursuits and jealous will, ash-child. Anuvanna'si. In the glorious Nirn-Ensuing, we must exorcise that grinning apparition we call "I." Only then can we know the sublime truth of the Mainspring Ever-Wound. We must walk change's road if we seek the end of disorder—and like all roads worth walking, it fills our hearts with joy and terror.

How like the et'Ada gears we are—content to live our lives in vain and sequestered sorrow, all the while oblivious to the anguished cries of our fractured souls! Look upon the lonely shore of Nirn. What do you see, with your broken eyes? One beach? One sea? Deceit and vanity! The Named illusion! For what is a "beach" if not a desperate agglomeration of isolated grains? What is a "sea" if not a churning mass of solitary tears? Separate! Broken! Arrogant and futile!

Even after meditating upon these sermons, there are some among you who cling to the Nirn-Prior. You fear the loss of your thin and impoverished "self." You must cast aside these childish fears! What good is a "self" if it burns away at the threshold of what waits beyond time? Do you not see that the Father of Mysteries seeks to usher our world through the End? To protect us from the lies-made-flesh who seek to destroy us? If you remember only one thing, let it be this: our blessed Clockwork God loves you with a fierce and awesome heart. What he does, he does for you and for all who would follow his divine example.

Lasting joy. The peace of unity. The sublime satisfaction of perfect rhythm; these are the product of our honest labors—the spokes of our blessed wheel that spins eternal. The Mainspring Ever-Wound offers perfection, child of Seht. You have but to gaze within. Stoke your coals. Add fresh water to your boilers. Tighten your bolts, and believe. Tamriel Final awaits. Anuvanna'si.

By the word, I wind the gears.


	70. The Unseen Potential of Clockwork

Any man or mer can look upon an acorn and see it for what it is. It's so easy to simply note its shape, its size, its color. Unassuming, discarded among the leaves and dirt. Any child could tell you those facts. And, admittedly, a child could also easily imagine what will become of the acorn, given simple knowledge. Of its possibility. Who among us does not know an acorn could one day become a tree?

Imagine, however, if one had never seen a tree before. Had never heard depictions or viewed drawings, and, without having been told of this tree, they are met with the simple acorn. Inconspicuous, small, inherently useless. Through all observations they could make, they are unable to connect the acorn presented to them with the image of a mighty oak.

Like an acorn, the Clockwork City shows no signs of its grand potential to the unsynchronized mind. To Nirn Above it appears to be but a world in miniature, buildings and roads simply shrunk and put in a contained space. The plaything of a god perhaps, to hold his most loyal followers and dangerous experiments. But those who hold this view are simply ignorant of the possibilities.

Clockwork City is the center of the wheel for Nirn-Ensuing, the Omni-Axle that shapes the world. Rich in beauty and alight with sublime terror, so the scripture tells us. Sympathetic perhaps to the reality of Nirn Extant, but its own reality altogether, apart from the imperfections born from Lorkhan's Great Lie.

Here we work under the Divine Metronome, our hands covered in oil, our hearts devoted. We are the welders, the seekers of hidden knowledge. We walk the path of the divine piston, our souls clean and well-oiled. The truth of our Clockwork City is that of the wheels Eternal, where one can hear the tick and tock of Tamriel final.

See beyond the simple acorn. See the mighty oak that it shall become.


	71. The Water Cycle of Clockwork City

The outside world is not unknown to the Apostles, but mostly ignored. What need have we to know of the history and cultures which fragment so frequently, broken apart in so many inconsequential ways? The Dark Elf Houses, the Breton monarchs, the warlords of the Orcs. What purpose does learning of their petty squabbles and worries serve to lead us towards the Chrononymic Will? If there is any topic of any worth, it is perhaps the environment of which the rest of Nirn is forced to live within. Factoring out the ever-changing influences of man and mer, we are left with constants that the et'Ada Gears have created. Sunlight causes green leaves to grow. Winds affect weather and temperature. And water, that which all life is dependent upon, flows through an endless cycle.

There is limited knowledge of the water cycle which all things depend upon. Water is heated by the sun and turns to vapor. The vapor floats up within the sky, creating clouds. The clouds grow heavy and release their burdens, letting the water once more return to earth. And so it goes, a never ending-wheel.

The water that flows naturally throughout Clockwork City, commonly known as Seht's Blood, is rich with the overflow of our innovation. The unfortunate side effect is that it makes this water completely undrinkable for our residents. But in all things He is wise, and in this too He had a plan.

Our home is shaped by the Divine Metronome, by the will of Lord Seht who sees the correct sequence. Yet even He knew of the beauty in this cycle, in this never-ending circle. And so He gave those who obeyed him the gift of water, of life, within the Halls of Regulation. Where everything is in perfect synchrony.

All water flows to the Halls of Regulation, where first it is filtered through fine mesh to separate larger sedimentation. Next the water is sent through the distillation initiator, powered by the cleansing magic to disinfect finer contaminates. Without this magical process, many toxins would still be present in the water when used by the citizens of Clockwork.

The cleansed water is then distributed to either the water reservoir or vapor manifold. The water reservoir retains all water given to the Brass Fortress, be it for drinking, bathing, or cleaning. The vapor manifold, however, holds equal importance, for it creates the humidity in the air which allows for organic life. Without it the very air we breathe would be deadly.

So join with me in praise for this most important of cycles, created gleaming and perfect by the will of Lord Seht. Perfect and perpetual, ever set in regulation.


	72. The Will of Our Mistress

Our Mistress' plans for these memories are of no consequence to us, for our goal is to merely find a way to control them. That being said, controlling a god's memories is no small feat. I say this not to question Her will, but rather to stress the difficulty of the task before you.

It's common knowledge who has jurisdiction over them. We just need to discover how.


	73. Thoughts of the Honored Assistant

To best ascertain and determine the needs of the residents of the Clockwork City, Lord Sotha Sil commanded me to create a series of factotums for the express purpose of collecting, analyzing, and interpreting social and environmental information in order to accurately predict trends and demands of the populace.

As the first model created, the Clockwork Analyst was designed for the primarily menial task of collecting and analyzing data relevant to the citizens of the Brass Fortress. This first generation analysis model factotum specializes in counting births and deaths, tracking residents and registered visitors, and recording illnesses, wealth, and social factors necessary to predict trends in the settlement. Once the concept is fully tested and vetted, we shall expand the project to the rest of the Clockwork City.

The pass phrase for interacting with this factotum's memory core is "Magus commands you."

Taking everything we learned with the first generation factotum, we next created the second generation prognostication model. This factotum could take the data collected by the analyst and use that information to make accurate predictions concerning the wants and needs of the citizens. In this way, Sotha Sil could anticipate the needs of his guests and satisfy them before they ever realized they had any outstanding wants to gratify.

During the process, however, a flaw developed in the prognostication model's sequential analytical processor assembly. The predictions it provided regarding certain individuals went far beyond mere statistical analysis and ventured into the realm of actual prophecy. This flaw was first noticed after the Magus himself tinkered with the mechanism, so we cannot be certain that this was not what Sotha Sil intended. But the Master has vanished again. I shall store the prognostication factotum in the valley outside the Brass Fortress and lock this prophetic mode with the pass phrase:

"Prime sequence eleven, thirteen, seventeen."

That should keep unauthorized prophesying to a minimum until the Master returns and I can ask for guidance regarding his intentions.


	74. Vivec, The Warrior-Poet

The Blade and the Lyre. Child of Truth and Falsehood, of Verse and Metaphor. Long may he tread the paths of Nirn. Long may he seek what he desires.


	75. Warning to All Residents

BEWARE! Beyond these gates, your safety cannot be guaranteed.

Interference with factotum duties will be met with lethal force.


	76. Worshiping the Illogical

The Clockwork Apostles dedicate their lives to many things. The words of our Sermons, laid before us by the ever-faithful Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon. The will of our god Lord Seht, the Mainspring Ever-Wound, the Divine Metronome. The driving forces of inspiration, of innovation, of discovery in all forms, magical, technological, spiritual. But we often forget, in our pursuit to unravel the mysterious of our world, that we are also subjects of the Tribunal.

I have found throughout my long tenure that many of my pupils have a hard time grasping the threefold nature of our belief within the Tribunal. Still, despite the repetition of these questions, I never rebuff this curiosity. Rather, I try to encourage it, for there is an abundance of contradictions within our piety towards Lady Amalexia and Lord Vivec. After all, the worship of these deities seem to almost challenge the beliefs we hold so true within our order.

Why are we told to worship these often puzzling deities alongside our sound and steady Clockwork God? Why must we follow not one god, but three?

Yet even this seemingly simple fact is but a misconception, for in this sequence we have found truth. ALMSIVI is but one entity, not the fractured creation that many perceive it as. It only appears fractured in the forms our gods have taken, but rather than separate deities they are all one portion of a welded whole. Regulated in their irregularities. Lady Amalexia and Lord Vivec, who are only consistent in their inconsistency, still create the order of our truths. They are the tock within our Lord Seht's tick, the wheel that forever goes forward but only to circle itself.

They are the truths of our chaotic present, the irregular oscillations that we must weld together. Within them we find the aspects of our humanity, the soul which merges with the machine, ambition which merges with beneficence. The act of faith itself seems contradictory to the importance we hold on evidential certainty. But not one among us is completely machine, cold and logical without the emotions which bind us together. No, we are welded beings, as varied and complex as our three gods. Fractured parts which have come together to create our individuality.

How does one devote themselves to such aspects? To these traits of Nirn which are not logic and order, our guiding principles? The Sermons tell us to understand their limitations. To pay heed, but know the boundaries of their scale. Know that these are the principals needed for our current world, Nirn-Prior, and shall be but an addition to the whole which is Nirn-Ensuing.

Hold tight their words, their laws and limits. Know that they are the echoes of a fractured selves, welded whole. Know that the Sublime Piston gives and takes in equal measures, sundering the Named pursuits of lesser mer. We must tear apart that which will be welded whole once more. Beliefs, structures, laws, one day outdated and unneeded.

And so we pay our respects to these aspects of our deities. Without faith towards ALMSIVI we ourselves become sundered from the truth. Speak the names of Lady Amalexia and Lord Vivec with respect, with piety. Listen to their words and heed their laws when necessary. They are the broken cogs that reflect ourselves, to be as venerated as the truths that we honor.


End file.
